


Singularity

by wtfkovah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Technology, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Astronauts, Awkwardness, Cultural Differences, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Meet-Cute, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 97,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: A lot of people would imagine piloting a space station on a reconnaissance mission should feel like freedom, but there's no such thing on a five-square-mile piece of metal, hemmed in on every side by flat, black nothingness.It’s like living on the galactic version of the Mary Celeste.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 62
Kudos: 215





	1. Event Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> RE-UPLOAD  
> This fic is a re-upload, and since I started writing it over two years ago, there has been some very beautiful fanart and commisions I would like to draw your attention to. :D  
> [Janna's art that inspired me to write this in the first place ](https://mobile.twitter.com/xparksjx/status/924316741282365440/photo/1)  
> [Beautiful commission by Julia I had completed for Chapter 2](https://twitter.com/pellchiart/status/1166513071420059648?s=20)  
> [Gift from Julia](https://twitter.com/pellchiart/status/1148195617182818306?s=20)  
> [Luna's Cutie Alien in Ship](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1225265764279693315?s=20)  
> [Luna's Spaceboy design](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1255641869326974980?s=20)  
> [Luna's Alien Hoon in Cheol's Jacket ](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1181415655117119489?s=20)  
> [Luna's Photosynthesising Spaceboy](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1263403195973414913?s=20)  
> [Luna's Alien Hoon sketch](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1179232324342419456?s=20)  
> [Gorgeous Flowery Spaceboy by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1179580978379055104?s=20)  
> [Photosynthesizing Alien Hoon by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1263119015599316992?s=20)  
> [Alien Hoon's Character Info by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1225258787902279680?s=20)  
> [Singularity Space Helmet by Luna ](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1221486994813071362?s=20)  
> [Alien Hoon Tarot Card by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1206403822362476549?s=20)  
> [Beautiful, sad Spaceboy by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1181631896679305217?s=20)  
> [I LOVE THIS SO MUCH BUT THIS BROKE MY FUCKING HEART-by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1153077655211786240?s=20)  
> [Astronaut Seungcheol, by Luna](https://twitter.com/LunaSolis1019/status/1142327993983021056?s=20)  
> [Ethereal Spaceboy's first appearance, by karrotsun](https://twitter.com/karrotsun/status/1050786675247341568?s=20)

“Wakey—wakey, Seungcheol. Happy Halloween.”

Seungcheol sighs, stumbling out of his bunk. His eyes are still mostly shut, and it takes him a long minute to correctly work the panel on the wall to accept the call.

“Did you wake me up just to piss me off?” he grunts, turning back towards his bunk, flopping, face first, back into the mattress.

All personnel in Central are well aware of just how much he _hates_ these holiday reminders, but Jeonghan in particular likes to rub it in.

Of all the communication’s officers Seungcheol has worked with—and there have been a fair few in his lengthy career—Jeonghan is by far the most annoying. Constantly reminding Seungcheol of what he’s missing out on where he back on Earth. 

Jeonghan’s laugh crackles over the radio. “You should stick to centralised time, so these check ins don’t disrupt your sleep.”

“I’ve never heard of a reconnaissance mission _needing_ so many check-ins.” Seungcheol mumbles into his pillow.

“They don’t. Not usually. It’s just your last report to Central was kind of—” Several deliberate seconds pass before Jeonghan continues with, _“Disconcerting_.”

Seungcheol blinks. Suddenly wide awake.

He keeps his guard up and his tone bland when he answers, “Do you want me to submit a psych-eval?”

“No, no—that’s not necessary.” Jeonghan is quick to reassure. But there is a strained quality to his voice when he continues. “I think the higher-ups just want a little more detail in your reports.”

“ _Detail_. More detail.” Seungcheol repeats. He turns his head away from the wall, gives the black, empty space outside his viewport another cursory glance. “Okay, I can give more detail. Oh, wait—that’s right. THERE’S NOTHING OUT HERE!”

The last word thunders too loud in the quiet room.

Jeonghan’s sigh is a pitying thing. “I know, I know, but that’s why they _get_ concerned. Your reports have been increasingly vague Seungcheol, and that follows a disturbing pattern of failed deep space missions. They’re just worried the tedium is getting to you, and what with the length of your mission you can’t blame them for thinking you might--”

“Jettison myself out of the airlock?” Seungcheol cracks a smile despite himself.

There’s a disappointed tut from Jeonghan. “Please. Don’t even joke about that. It’s more common than you think.”

Seungcheol rubs a hand over his eyes, “Look—I’m feeling fine, Hannie. But, if it makes Central rest easy at night, I’ll start a fire in the mess hall or something. Give them something other than my sanity to fret about.”

There is an audible weariness in Jeonghan's voice when he replies, “As usual Seungcheol, our chats always fill me with confidence. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

The comm cuts out and the silence that descends after is deafening.

Seungcheol lets out his breath, squints against the headache that's building behind his eyes, and slides out from beneath the covers.

He’s up now—might as well make himself useful.

* * *

**DAY: 738**

The first year was the worst.

It took time to get used to the silence. To stop turning around at every little sound—the hum of the engines, the hiss of a door shutting behind him—and starting to speak to someone who’s not there. To get used to seeing his own face in the mirror every morning, lathered with shaving cream, hungover, whatever—and remember that he was completely alone. 

He was sure he’d throw in the towel and request a transfer after six months in, but his coping mechanisms turn out to be better than he’d thought. 

The bored-looking government psychologist Seungcheol met with a handful of times to prepare for life on-board had recommended sticking to a routine. _Structure is important to keep you grounded._

Seungcheol has taken that advice; he builds his routines purposefully, the way a man might build a wall of sandbags against rising waters.

Up at seven, shower and shave every other day. Oatmeal for breakfast, and a period of enlightenment over the latest news headlines that get sent to his inbox every morning. Digests about uprisings and revolutions, political alliances, market crashes and the latest Pleasure-Bots flooding the black market. He always feels a little homesick after he finishes, but he can’t bear to cut it out of his routine. It’s important to keep up with current events, after all.

After breakfast he walks a circuit of the station, monitors the coolant levels, inspects the mainframe, noting where sections need to be repaired. Even if the computer doesn’t alert him, there’s always _something_ , enough to get him through to dinner.

Cooking is one of his sole pleasures. Grilled chicken Japchae, pork Bolgogi and recreating his mother's Sundubu-jjigae. When he's feeling particularly _exotic,_ he'll try something Western. Sole with lemon. Chicken with paprika. Rabbit with red wine, mussels with white. It’s pathetic not to have anyone to cook for, but what else is he going to do?

The evening is hardest to fill. Usually he naps, and wakes up to find himself surrounded by nothing but starlight and what feels like an impending madness, adrift in all that emptiness. That’s when he feels most like going straight to the flight deck, overriding the controls and taking the station for a joyride. He forces himself up and does push-ups until it eases off. Sometimes a hundred, sometimes more.

There’s a large greenhouse in the lower deck, brimming with life; all deep greens and abundant fauna, the faint fragrance of surrounding flora hanging heavy and ambrosial in the air. It supplies most of the station’s oxygen and Seungcheol makes a point to visit it often, even if it’s just to sit on a solitary bench and read under it’s only cherry-blossom tree.

Some idiot saw fit to include an entertainment room in the third deck, so Seungcheol can play table tennis, snooker and foosball _all_ by himself if he so desired.

He doesn’t.

The room is sealed now, its windows shuttered and its lights dark.

He spends a few hours at the start and end of each day in the flight deck, performing scheduled scans and adjusting the stations trajectory.

He’s there now, leant back in the pilot’s seat, sipping on the cold remnants of his morning coffee and generally wishing he was anywhere else but here.

A lot of people would imagine piloting a space station on a reconnaissance mission should feel like freedom, but there's no such thing on a five-square-mile piece of metal, hemmed in on every side by flat, black nothingness.

It’s like living on the galactic version of the Mary Celeste.

Central had touted this scrap of space out past Messier 33 as relevant enough to warrant further investigation. But twenty years of surveillance by some of the best space pilots in the fleet later, and still nothing.

For Seungcheol—it’s been 738 days of _nothing_. 

It’d help if the higher-ups would at least give him a task besides the usual ship maintenance and interference scans, but no. All the potential _‘Generic space anomalies’_ and _‘unexpected subspace readings’_ are automatically identified and collated by an on-board computer system, so even if shit _happened_ —Seungcheol’s still going to be left there twiddling his fucking thumbs. 

The whole set up is an insult to his rank, his honour, and worst of all his intelligence.

Just because he's a flight officer and not a scientist doesn't mean he can't appreciate the chance to add something _tangible_ to the abstract scans and data they're gathering from this corner of space.

Pulling a toothpick out of the breast pocket on his flight-suit, he tucks it between his teeth, rolls it with his tongue. Only two more hours staring at the stars, and then he can go back to the inner decks and the far more palatable boredom of his own quarters.

After a while the boring black starts to blur together, and Seungcheol blinks.

When he opens them again there’s a thin sliver of deeper purple striking through the darkness, subtle, but he hasn’t spent hours out here over the last two years to not be sure of what should be here and what shouldn’t.

“Lieutenant Seungcheol to Computer. I’m picking up a visual anomaly up ahead, initiate scan.”

> [Scan initiated]  
>  [Scan complete]  
>  [No anomaly detected]

Seungcheol frowns, sparing a glance at the data screen before returning his full attention to the less-than-reassuring image through the view port before him. “Uh—Computer. I’m pretty sure there’s something out there, initiate another scan.”

> [Scan initiated]  
>  [Scan complete]  
>  [No anomaly detected]

Seungcheol taps a few more buttons on the console and shifts his hands to the steering pad, gunning the west engines to rotate the station 35 degrees to afford a better view.

As he watches the sliver widens into more of a rift, pulsing against the flat blackness of the surrounding space. It can’t be a galaxy or anything else like that; everyone would have seen it before.

“Computer—are you picking up any unusual readings?”

> [No relevant readings detected]

Seungcheol bites his tongue and glares straight ahead.

The viewport offers a disconcerting glimpse of space gone wrong. Shimmering, distorting, rolling in on itself like the tide of an ocean, except for a tiny slice of normal starry blackness too far away.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me, computer—how are you not picking this up? There’s an anomaly right in front of my fucking face. It’s growing in size and I’ve never seen anything like it. Run another fucking scan!”

> [Scan initiated]  
>  [Scan complete]  
>  [Anom--

Whatever the on-board computer was about to say is lost under the sudden screech of the contact alarm sounding in the cockpit.

> [Warning: Radiation levels at 45%. Please alter course]

“What?”

Seungcheol’s grip on the steering pad tightens.

It's not that he is hesitating.

He's too experienced an officer to freeze up at the first sign of danger on a looming horizon. But he isn't ready to retreat to safety just yet. He wants a better look—a chance to catch this strange phenomenon for Central’s scientific archives.

He adjusts the settings on the external scanner, enhancing to capture the image at a greater distance.

It still isn't enough.

The rift is too far away. And from a quick glance at the info-deck, it appears to be thrusting the station away, _out_ of it's gravitational field. Like a black hole in _reverse._

Overriding the ship’s defensive protocols, Seungcheol commandeers the controls and propels the station forward, slowly, ignoring the radiation warning alerts it triggers.

It's beautiful even from here. Like some massive meteorological event instead of the artificial space anomaly it is. Even scanning at full strength, Seungcheol sees only a sheening, swooping cloud drifting through a literal hole in space. A gorgeous and mind-distorting swathe of perpetually changing colour, casting an improbable mix of blackness and reflection in the dead space around it.

> [Warning: Radiation levels at 65%. Please adjust course]

"Just a little closer," Seungcheol pleads.

He can almost, _almost_ make out a large shape through the rift, floating amongst the pieces of the oncoming cloud, and he is desperate to see. Not for the science of it—there is nothing his eyes can discern that the scanning equipment can't do better—but because it shouldn't all be about computers and data. 

Then, as he watches, a proximity alarm sounds, jarring and loud.

Seungcheol's neck twinges as he jerks his head in the direction of the blaring equipment, and his eyes widen at what he sees pass across the screen in front of him.

A fast-moving heat signature passing through the rift. 

It's just a sequence of numbers, but Seungcheol’s mind parses them easily, conjuring an image to match. Visualizing the alarming slant of the heat signature’s trajectory.

It’s heading straight for him.

“Fuck!” Seungcheol says, tugging the steering pad backwards hard, pulling the station away from the rift.

Not a second later, the sky lights up as something streaks out of the growing tear, accelerating even further once through.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Seungcheol glares at the console, at the safety alerts pinging as he engages the stations primary defence canon.

It’s easy enough to get the vessel in his crosshairs, but it’s hard to keep it there.

Whatever just slipped out of that rift is small, streamlined and manoeuvring a deep-space station to keep sight of it is next to impossible.

The unidentified vessel dips and rolls out of his crosshairs suddenly, cresting the cockpit far too close for comfort and bearing down on the southern wall, practically behind him. Practically _on top_ of him.

“Shit—shit. Don’t lose it!”

Seungcheol flips a switch and pulls the steering pad back harder, fast enough to trigger warnings throughout the station.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light illuminates the dead space up ahead.

Seungcheol doesn’t even get a chance to swear before his view is swallowed by light, and everything is static and gravity and the sick, inexorable sense of falling.

* * *

It’s cold when Seungcheol groans and eases his eyes open.

He’s lying on his back staring at a pale grey ceiling, and if this is what death is like, he’s going to be really, really pissed off.

Except death sounds really, really loud—and a lot like a system failure alarm.

“Oh— _shit_.” He rolls onto his knees to survey his surroundings, and finds he’s been thrown out of his seat in the earlier chaos. The flight deck appears to be completely intact, but the computerised voice trilling _Warning_ in the background heralds disaster elsewhere.

“Computer, status report.” Seungcheol says, bracing an arm on the empty pilot's seat and levering himself up from the floor. The room spins around him in a way he doesn't approve of at all.

> [Depressurisation in eastern wing. Radiation panels dislodged on south side. Coolant leakage in mainframe]

The computer’s calm voice settles the worst of his worries. Seungcheol no longer feels disoriented and confused.

“What needs fixing first and how long have I got?”

> [Prioritise hull tear in eastern wing]

“Alright.” Seungcheol sighs, and heads towards the emergency hanger to suit up.

* * *

When Seungcheol returns to the flight deck, he’s spent the better part of seven hours putting out various literal and metaphorical fires. He’s exhausted and smells way more like smoke than he’d like. 

Retaking his position in the pilot’s seat, he’s surprised to find the comm system lit up with a recorded transmission.

His first thought is that Central have hailed him to ask what the fuck he’s doing with their space station, but when he hits play, it soon becomes apparent it’s not.

Instead of a soft beep and the silence of open airwaves, his ear fills with the sharp, unhappy hiss of static. It’s a ragged sound, harsh and patchy, and when Seungcheol tries to adjust the frequency, all he gets is louder static. The volume swells until….

Seungcheol blinks.

There's a voice coming over the comm system; a crackling hiss that flares and pops on every fifth word.

It's not a language he’s ever heard, but the pattern of breaks is familiar in a way that makes him take a breath and lean in just a little closer.

It’s a distress signal.

Something, out there, is rambling off coordinates in a tone that's high and panicked, rough in a way that suggests it's been calling for some time.

He’s almost lost himself listening to that strange flow of foreign words, when a sharp repetitive blaring noise begins to sound in the background. It’s tinny and awful and continues to drown out the voice until the recording cuts.

Try as he might, Seungcheol can’t triangulate the source of the transmission due to some unexplainable interference. But even though the message is in some incomprehensible language, it’s a strong signal.

Whatever’s transmitting it— must be nearby. 

Seungcheol shakes his head, fingers hovering over the buttons, his scowl has turned into a frown.

“Computer—are you picking up any unidentified debris in the vicinity?”

> [Negative]

Seungcheol sighs. “If you say so.”

* * *

**DAY: 739**

“ _Someone_ was having fun yesterday.” Jeonghan’s amused voice bursts across the comm line.

“You got my report?” Seungcheol blurts in a low, clumsy rush.

“Yeah, I did. And I read the computer log too—system failures right left and centre, hull breaches and radiation panel damage. This isn’t want I meant by more detail by the way. I would like to be clear right now, that I _never_ suggested you take the station for a spin and try and give yourself whiplash.”

Jeonghan’s tone is— _impossibly_ —light and unworried. Easy. Exasperated. Like he can't believe Seungcheol is bothering him with insignificant updates.

“Forget that for a second.” Seungcheol huffs, impatient and irritated. “What about the _anomaly_ , the huge ass rift I reported?”

There’s a prolonged silence on the other end of the line, before Jeonghan begins in a tight voice. 

“Lieutenant Choi—”

The use of rank instead of his name makes Seungcheol’s cringe. He knows it’s bad when Jeonghan retreats behind protocol and the chain of command.

“Look—I know what you’re going to say, but I _know_ what I saw. There was a rift, bleeding light and colour, and this slick looking vessel passed through it—I tried to follow its trajectory and then—”

“But there’s no evidence of it Seungcheol.” Jeonghan pipes in, with a solidity that draws Seungcheol up short. “I ran the data you sent in your report, I got some of my best guys to check it out and what you’re describing _doesn’t exist._ Yes, there was a small gamma ray spike that lasted for a few minutes, but gamma ray spikes have been observed before in other galaxies. The closest theory they could come up with is a White Hole, and I don’t even want to get into the improbability of that because White Hole’s are hypothetical at best.”

It's with difficulty Seungcheol keeps his voice mild. “I got the computer to run three scans when I saw the rift. The first two scans came up with nothing, but the third scan would have picked _something_ up had the contact alarm not been triggered.”

There’s another pause, longer this time.

And then Jeonghan sighs and says, “That’s the thing. We don’t even have a record of the contact alarm _being_ triggered. The computer log is empty except for two clear scans and a fuck load of system failure warnings.”

The mild tone strains. “Fine,” Seungcheol bites out. “But what about the distress signal I recorded? Has anyone been able to translate _that_ at least?”

“Hmm. About that Seungcheol—what makes you so sure it _was_ a distress signal? It just sounds like static to us. There aren’t any discernible words.”

Seungcheol runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “ _Hannie_ , I did not just fly a space station at inadvisable speeds over _nothing_.”

A slow breath, a measurable hesitation, and Jeonghan says, “How’s your sleep at the moment?”

“Good. Great. I sleep well.” Seungcheol keeps his tone as calm as he can manage despite the obvious deflection.

Jeonghan’s answering hum sounds dubious. “Getting a full eight hours? Uninterrupted? Are you taking anything to help you _get_ to sleep?”

Seungcheol scoffs, “Don’t worry, I’m not self-medicating.”

“Maybe you _should_.” Jeonghan offers.

“I—” Seungcheol falters, thrown by the suggestion, then says, “Wait. You’re actually suggesting I dope—”

“The Medical team have recommended it actually.” Jeonghan interrupts breezily. “Nothing long term, obviously. Just a couple of Diazepam at night, something to _ease_ you into sleep—reduce your anxiety.”

_“I’m not anxious.”_ Seungcheol says through gritted teeth.

“But you _sound_ anxious.” Jeonghan retorts. Which translates quite easily from Hannie-speak into 'completely and totally nuts.'

Seungcheol groans. “This is ridiculous.”

He can feel the futility of his protest, the absolute pointlessness of railing ahead when everyone in Central obviously thinks he’s gone mad with cabin fever.

Resigning himself to being ignored, he allows his posture to ease, his shoulders to slump.

“Yeah, you’re right Hannie. Maybe I’ll take your advice on the medication. See how I feel tomorrow.”

It's a feeble surrender. He feels like a coward, even though he knows persisting will only cause more alarm.

“Great!” Jeonghan sounds instantly relieved. “And then tomorrow, Central have some basic scans they want you to run. I’ll send them through. Nice, easy stuff to take your mind off things.”

The pleasantness Seungcheol forces in answer is wan, but hopefully convincing.

"Yeah. Sure thing."

* * *

**DAY: 740**

> [Warning: Radiation panels dislodged on the south side]

The on-board maintenance system alerts Seungcheol the next morning.

“I already fixed that yesterday.” Seungcheol answers around a yawn. “Calibrate readings.”

> [Radiation panel reading re-set]  
>  [Scanning station exterior]  
>  [Warning: Radiation panels dislodged on the south side]

Seungcheol sits up abruptly, fog dissipating in a dizzying rush of adrenaline. He fumbles a hand out of the covers, gropes uselessly at the bedside table with nerveless fingers before finally managing to retrieve his data pad.

According to the ship schematics, there are indeed two radiation panels dislodged from the south side of the station. And even though he’d ventured out there yesterday, repaired everything that had come loose from his inadvisable manoeuvre—he’s going to have to suit up _again_.

Which— _probably_ isn’t the wisest thing to do when you’re mildly sedated with benzodiazepines; because maintaining an orbital space station is like operating heavy machinery, drowsiness is dangerous.

He'll fall asleep in his space suit and float into an asteroid field at this rate, but he can’t delay the repair; everything needs to be ship-shape when he submits the next maintenance log to central.

* * *

Once outside, Seungcheol attaches the safety tether to his space suit and makes for the south side, finds two panels wide open just as seen in the scan.

On closer inspection he finds the panels have not just been _dislodged_ , but damaged too. The inner hydraulics of the locking mechanism are a mess, metal-and-conduit-lined guts jutting out from where a missing fuel cell should lie.

Thank fuck he has spares.

Doubling back to the air lock, he packs up the equipment he needs and sets out again to replace the fuel cell.

Repairing radiation panels is…

Banal, is the word that comes to mind.

Seungcheol manages to keep himself mildly entertained with thoughts of what he’ll do when he gets back to Earth.

He wonders, idly, what the exchange rate is between Korean Won and Australian dollars these days, and whether that little family run Takoyaki restaurant he likes in Osaka is still open. He wonders if Mingyu’s going to be back on shore leave when he’s there—and if he can rope him into re-visting that brothel in Amsterdam they found last time. His mum will be pleased to see him. As always, she’ll convey her affection through food and criticism: he’s got too many tattoos, he’s gained or lost too much weight, and when’s he going to stop wasting his time in his dead end career and settle down in Daegu with a nice girl, _quickly, make a baby before your balls shrivel up._

His mind has wandered again—predictably—too lost in this literal maze of his own ideas and dreams and memories that he doesn't realise the danger until it’s too late.

As he moves onto the second panel, the safety tether that connects his flight suit to the ship’s hull detaches, severed by the first panel shutting on it.

Seungcheol startles at the hiss of the panel re-opening automatically, and carefully dives to avoid it’s swing.

He expects to be tugged back towards the hull a few seconds later, the safety tether doing its job of drawing him in when he strays too far—only he finds himself slowly floating, further and further away instead.

“Oh…shit!” Seungcheol flails his arms out, trying to slow his momentum as he drifts away from the station.

His attempt is useless of course. With nothing to grip and no gravity to weigh him down, he only succeeds in setting himself off in a slow, perpetual spin. Seungcheol taps his comm badge during an awkward scuffling of limbs, but the distinctive chirp goes unanswered. Either he’s too far away for the station’s computer to register it, or _something_ is giving off more than enough interference to jam standard comm signals.

“Fuck. Think—think.” Seungcheol hisses, head spinning as his lungs struggle to remember how to breathe.

He tries to think through the frantic thudding of his own pulse, the view of the station through his helmet shrinking with each full spin.

When, suddenly—there’s a discordant rush of images. Whispering and light and pressure all along his back. Mixed up with the shuddering threat of hysteria and fury, and horrible terror.

He falls motionless. 

Which _shouldn’t_ be possible. It really shouldn’t.

Not out here, where debris can drift for an _eternity_. 

Seungcheol cranes his neck, trying to shift the bulky suit to peer behind him, but there’s an invisible grip around his waist, an odd mockery of an embrace.

In a disorientating flash, he’s spun upright and that’s….

That’s when he sees it.

It?

Him?

Huh?

“Holy shit.” Seungcheol says quietly and he's amazed his voice isn't higher, isn't more hysterical, because he thinks the situation deserves a little hysterical at this point.

There’s a boy floating directly in front of him now, with bright blue eyes and soft wisps of silver hair that float around his head like a halo. He’s lithe and pale and humanoid, but clearly _not_ real at all because he’s floating out here, in _space_ , barefoot and naked except for the thin white straps that criss-cross his body. 

The only reason Seungcheol _knows_ he's not dreaming is that his heart is thumping so fast he can see his own pulse readings on the Heads-up display and his panicked breaths are fogging up the view through his helmet.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

There’s a soft glow to the boy now, and he’s saying something to Seungcheol in some unintelligible whisper, but the sound is muffled by the rush of blood in Seungcheol’s ears. 

And then, even stranger than everything that's come before, the boy reaches out and _takes his hand_ —tugs him back towards the frayed edge of the tether floating meters away.

Seungcheol sets aside the weirdness to reach for the tether, reeling himself in till his boots connect with the stations hull.

When he glances behind him—the boy has vanished.

Seungcheol finds himself alone, safety tether reattached and gradually reminds himself to breathe.

* * *

Seungcheol will probably spend the entire rest of his life wondering where he found the brain power to finish his repair job and make it back to the airlock. But somehow, mindless, he finds his feet. Somehow he makes it back inside.

When the airlock re-pressurizes, Seungcheol slumps against the nearest bulkhead and pulls off his helmet. He's out of zero gravity now, in the relative safety of the station, and all around him are the reassuring beeps and hums of station instruments working as intended.

“Computer, status report on panel repair.” He mumbles.

> [Scanning station exterior]

The info pad on the wall pulses a steady glow, lights in blue and green signalling the beginning of a routine external scan, assessing his repair job.

> [Radiation panel repair complete]

The computer announces a minute later.

Taking a calming breath, Seungcheol shuts his eyes briefly, then opens them.

He’d be relieved it if it weren't for the slight niggling in his belly, the sensation that he's resting on the edge of something terrifying, teetering. Despite the thin layer of sweat he can feel all over his body, the skin on the back of his neck is prickling, the little hairs standing up.

Carefully, he makes his way down the corridor, stripping the rest of his flight suit as he goes.

He has a shit ton of reports to type up, but that can wait till tomorrow.

Tonight, he’ll head to the mess hall and let himself get hammered on a bottle of whiskey.

* * *

**DAY: 741**

The next day, Seungcheol stands in the toilet, red-eyed and hungover, holding the open straight razor against his throat. Staring at himself, eye to eye. Holding a private conversation. A conversation he’s not sure he’s even fully invited to, himself.

_No. You’re not losing it._

_You saw what you saw._

He shaves instead, rinses it all down the sink and then heads to the cock-pit to type up his report.

_Accidentally detached from safety tether while repairing radiation panels. Rescued by half-naked floating boy.—_ Seungcheol types shakily, while wondering if he actually has lost his fucking mind.

He’s lucky to be alive. He may be trapped on a space station, but it’s a damn site better than floating helplessly through space while his oxygen cylinder ran out. It's a thought that threatens to knock nausea and panic loose in Seungcheol's guts again. A truth he can't think on too closely just yet—even with the danger passed—it still puts him on edge to consider how near he came to a slow, painful death.

When he’s finished, he reads the report of the event back to himself and then promptly deletes the entire thing.

Nobody is going to fucking believe him.

* * *

**DAY: 745**

Seungcheol's been staring at the ceiling for the last two hours.

The clock reads 3:16am-Centralized time, which is seven minutes later than the last time he looked.

He exhales, more frustrated than tired, and turns over for the seventh, eighth, fifteenth time? 

By his calculations, he hasn’t slept in 72 hours, 34 minutes and…..

_Huh_.

Keeping track of all these numbers _probably_ isn’t helping him out any, but he has to do _something_ to tire his brain out. 

It’s not just difficulty drifting off to sleep either, it’s _staying_ asleep for longer than 30 minutes. His rampant paranoia won’t allow it. But he’ll be damned if he takes anything to help him though, because _that’s_ what got him into this paranoid mess in the first place. That and the infrequent sightings of _Spaceboy_.

The italics in his head are absolutely necessary, because there's something about having your world view tilted sixty degrees that deserves emphasis.

Frustration screams beneath his skin. His senses refuses to settle and accept what both his rational mind and a multitude of external scans are telling him: there is nothing alive floating outside the station.

Nothing.

It was all just a hallucination brought on by medication and possible space _madness_.

Which, in the scheme of things, isn’t that bad because hallucinating half-naked Spaceboy’s has to be better than hearing voices that tell you to poke out your eyeballs or steer the station into the nearest sun.

In fact half-naked Spaceboy’s are almost _pleasant_ in comparison, and if that's all that there is, if that's the only weird side-effect to his prolonged solitude, or whatever than he should be grateful.

Seriously though—why’d he _have_ to hallucinate the guy half naked?

Why couldn’t he have hallucinated him in a shirt and tie, his favourite football team’s jersey, or a clown costume?

Actually—fuck that.

That’s the _last_ thing he needs. Space Clowns.

He exhales again because there isn't a hope in hell he's actually getting to sleep any time soon.

"Fuck it."

The duvet ends up trailing on the floor as Seungcheol rolls out of his bunk and—freezes.

There’s a flicker of blue in the corner of his vision. Seungcheol frowns, turning towards the viewport.

His insides go cold, a shockwave of icy denial coursing through him because the boy is _right there_ —floating at the viewport—peering inside his room like a nosey neighbour.

Seungcheol feels a taut, panicky flutter in the base of his throat. He’s standing there stiff as a mannequin, he knows it, holding on to something that he is almost certain is a scream. 

Slowly, Spaceboy floats closer to the window, presses his hand to the glass and _smiles_ and Seungcheol can’t even breathe he’s so fucking terrified.

“Oh….my god.” Seungcheol manages after a moment of incredulous gawking. 

Spaceboy’s smile wavers then, a furrow forming between his eyebrows, blatant worry re-writing his expressive face.

Suddenly he floats backwards, away from the window. The light from a the nearest White Dwarf is behind him, framing him in gold. Gold and silver, that’s how Seungcheol remembers it.

Because by the time Seungcheol rushes forward to press his nose to the glass—Spaceboy’s already gone.

The space where he stood is empty, as if he never was.

* * *

**DAY: 746**

Seungcheol does an inventory of his supplies the next day. He’s not sure what compels him to do it—but he has an inkling something’s not quite right when he sits down for breakfast and sees a jar of peanut butter on the shelf facing the wrong way round.

Living alone on a space station for over two years gives you plenty of spare time to be particular about things. Things you wouldn’t usually be particular about if you weren’t bored out of your mind. Things like how you organise your pantry.

For Seungcheol, everything is date rotated; perishable items at the front, lids tightly sealed and labels facing forward.

In the scheme of things, it’s a ridiculous thing to be obsessive about—but his attention to detail is rewarded when he completes his inventory and can’t account for 3 items.

One small carton of Orange juice, a protein bar and a vacuum-packed blueberry muffin.

It’s possible that he’s responsible for consuming those items—that he’d simply forgotten he’d eaten them, or slacked off when taking inventory _last_ time. But something tells him he isn’t 

* * *

**DAY: 748**

Seungcheol can't decide whether to mention his ‘Visitor’ in his next weekly report to Earth. 

Are we alone in the universe? It’s one of those abstract notions certain people like to ponder. Crack-pots, for instance. Conspiracy theorists. Back at Central it’s been a topic of many deeply unserious, meandering late-night conversations.

It’s not a practical question. It has no direct application.

Except it does. And Seungcheol now knows the answer.

It's three solid days before his report is due—and so he spends every intervening moment replaying details in his head. Piecing together the surreal image he saw. Starlight through a narrow viewport. A figure floating in space without a suit. Astonishingly blue glowing eyes and silver hair. Unparalleled beauty.

But when the time comes to type it all out, the surreal moment is days behind him and he's had time enough to think better of it.

Too little information tends to worry people, but he's fairly sure that too much will worry them even more.

Some secrets are worth keeping, and Spaceboy is his.

* * *

**DAY: 751**

There’s a packet of mini Oreos missing today, and a Twinkie. Not exactly a nutritious choice.

Seungcheol’s not sure what fascinates him more; that Spaceboy is favouring highly-processed junk foods, or the fact that he eats at all.

Oddly, he’d always assumed that if he ever did come in contact with an advanced extra-terrestrial species, they would be some kind of prime elemental, levitating around and eating lotus blossoms or something.

But apparently, even Aliens have a sweet tooth.

* * *

**DAY: 753**

Grateful as Seungcheol is to be neither alone nor insane, he _isn't_ happy with his mysterious new visitor.

For one thing, he never hangs around long enough for Seungcheol to wise up and snap a picture, so he can forward it to Central and say, _Ha—see. I'm not crazy!_

Secondly, Spaceboy has been stealing his Coca-Cola.

Accusing extra-terrestrial life of stealing your Cola is probably in some doctors list of space madness symptoms, but Seungcheol doesn’t give a shit.

He’s the victim here.

Since his mission began, Seungcheol’s restricted himself to two cola cans a month to carry him through to the end of his mission. The last time he counted, he had 18 cans—but now he’s 3 cans short.

  1. How many cola-cans does that leave Seungcheol?
  2. How many months will he live without Cola now that he is three cans short?
  3. Why are all his very serious adult life problems starting to sound like a fourth-grade textbook maths question? 



Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Seungcheol’s had about enough of this shit.

He’s going to take action.

Cola thievery is where he draws the line.

* * *

**DAY: 755**

The ruse is a simple one really. Bait and switch.

Well, actually—there’s no switching involved. It’s more like, bait and knock the fuck out.

His uninvited guest is helping himself to his rations and Seungcheol is not above sacrificing a few cans of cola to catch the little levitating shit.

His first thought is to lace the cola with a strong sedative. Something to put the guy to sleep long enough that Seungcheol has time to search for his unconscious body. He spends an age trying to find a way to inject the sedative into the can _without_ compromising its appearance externally. But after giving himself several needle stick injuries, he decides to switch tactics.

Plan number 2 requires an electrified net. Which Seungcheol does not have. Nor does he know how to make. Plan number 2 promptly gets canned.

Plan number 3 consists of eating several bananas and then placing the peel in strategic locations, like doorways and narrow corridors. Seungcheol gets through eight bananas before his stomach protests and he decides— _fuck this_ —and just stacks the remainder of his cola cans in the centre of the mess hall and waits the guy out.

He’s hiding in an empty storage locker well past his bedtime, armed with a Phaser and amped up on caffeine when he hears the hiss of the mess hall door open. 

Holding his breath, Seungcheol presses closer to the locker door and listens. 

There's the quiet padding of footsteps on the metal floor, a pause followed by a heavy clunk, and then a tiny noise of surprise.

“Oooh.”

_That’s_ Seungcheol cue.

He pushes the locker door open with a boot and immediately trains his Phaser on the interloper.

Spaceboy’s standing in front of the Coca-Cola pyramid, cradling a can in his palms almost _reverently_. He startles visibly when Seungcheol emerges, dropping the can and taking an instinctive step back, staring at Seungcheol with impossibly wide eyes.

The silence is overwhelming as they stare at each other.

It's on the tip of Seungcheol's tongue to say something, he doesn't know what—just something to take the edge off the situation—but then Spaceboy’s bright eyes blink and glance away from Seungcheol's face—downward— only _now_ seeming to register the weapon aimed at him.

If it weren't for the cluster of anxious sensations twisting in Seungcheol's chest, the look of incredulous horror Spaceboy levels at him could almost be funny. 

Spaceboy falls back another step. A third. Nostrils flaring with panic.

“No—wait—” Seungcheol begins, taking a step forward and raising his hand.

It’s clearly the _wrong_ thing to do. 

Spaceboy back pedals faster, then turns, making a run for the exit.

Seungcheol aims his gun at the edge of the door frame, intent on shooting it in warning—only for Spaceboy to slip on the banana peel Seungcheol had positioned there earlier and knock himself out on the hard metal floor.

Seungcheol stands there—stunned, staring between the unconscious Spaceboy, the weapon in his hand and the banana peel lying on the floor like a spent daffodil and out loud, he thinks, “Did that just happen?”

* * *

Yeah. Yeah it did happen, because ten minutes of staring later, Spaceboy is still knocked out cold on the floor and he doesn't appear to be disappearing any time soon.

Without hesitation, Seungcheol steps in close and scoops Spaceboy up into his arms.

He's light, but solid and _very real_ and Seungcheol's surprised to find the boy really isn't cold at all. Even though he should be, even though he's been floating around, half naked outside a space station, and he should be ice cold.

Seungcheol carries him to the med-bay, lays him out there on one of the bio-beds and carefully examines the back of his head for injuries.

Just a small bump. No serious damage. Nothing to worry about.

He should probably scan him, just to be sure. Maybe run a few tests or take a blood sample at least. But it all feels extremely invasive for a creature that has yet to cause him harm.

He grabs a foil blanket instead, drapes it over Spaceboy’s body to keep him warm.

Spaceboy’s lashes flutter briefly at the contact, mouth parting in a small noise of distress.

Seungcheol has a hand reaching out to sooth him instinctively, before he catches himself on and yanks it back.

There’s no protocol to handle what he’s facing here, but the last thing he should probably do is start _touching_ things.

He’s making first contact with an Alien species—one that could possibly disembowel him in seconds, slit his throats in even less, re-arrange his organs so he’s pissing blood out of his eyeballs.

Although, the longer he looks at his guest, the less likely any of that seems.

Spaceboy is _small_. He looks….not _quite_ angelic, but almost, lying there features softened with sleep. His white hair looks almost translucent, falling in pastel, glittering strands across his forehead, and the milky paleness of his skin and delicate wispiness of his lashes give him a distinctive ethereal air.

_Fuck. He’s really .....beautiful._

Seungcheol jerks his gaze away quickly and steps out of the room, tapping the side panel to shut the door behind him. 

* * *

Seungcheol holds vigil in the observation room; chest tight, posture at instinctive attention as he watches Spaceboy’s unconscious form through a two-way mirror.

It’s not long before Spaceboy’s eyes blink open, bright and wide. There’s confusion in his expression as his gaze darts around the unfamiliar room.

He immediately sits up on the bio-bed, foil blanket fluttering untidily into his lap. He pulls his legs up, and spins sideways on the table, legs dangling off the edge. Then he slips off, bare feet almost soundless on the floor.

The bio-scanner on the wall draws his attention first, and he flicks through the settings with a careless sort of inattention before immediately being distracted by something else. The shiniest objects seem to attract him the most; metal instruments, coloured glass jars and flashing panels—even the foil blanket that has slipped to the floor gets a curious examination and a pleased ‘Ooh’. 

He's like an Alien _magpie_ ; eyes tracing each object, assessing it all for its viability to be reworked into something useful.

Seungcheol watches him carefully, while he pokes and prods around the med-bay, if only to ensure he doesn’t injure himself during his exploration.

Which is a big possibility, considering how _little_ protective clothing he’s wearing at this moment.

Seungcheol’s not sure if the white straps criss-crossing over his torso represent outer or inner clothing, but they protect his modesty only by the very loosest of definitions.

Gradually, Seungcheol finds his gaze, guiltily, sliding down the interloper’s lithe frame.

He can't help the fact that he's looking, that he can't seem to _stop_ looking.

There's so much skin on display, every inch of it pale and slender, in a way that just seems overly _naked_. Juts of vertebrae, and the sharp curves of shoulder blade and rib, more obvious when the boy twists or leans. The curve of less pedestrian body parts are _also_ visible, underneath the straps below the waist and leaving Seungcheol in no doubt whatsoever that he is looking at a _Male_ of the species. 

Then Spaceboy bends to examine something on the floor and….

_Jesus_.

Seungcheol feels guilty about just how _much_ he's noticing. He averts his gaze quickly, ignoring the traitorous interest warming his stomach.

He should probably stop staring like a creep and introduce himself.

That would be the polite thing to do.

* * *

If Spaceboy is startled by his return, he doesn’t show it. He meets Seungcheol’s eyes steadily as the doors hiss open, carefully sets down the instrument he was studying and then raises a single hand in the air in the approximation of a salute.

Seungcheol thinks they’re about to have a moment. One of those _ET—phone home_ , glowing finger moments that he’ll write about in his Autobiography, suitably titled: _Spaceboy: My encounter with Half-Naked Aliens that stole my Cola._

Except Spaceboy decides to throw all that out the window by saying, “Sup.”

Seungcheol blinks at him.

After all the sleepless nights, the worrying and wondering he’s done, Seungcheol doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Excuse me?” Seungcheol asks, with an appropriate measure of alarm and slowly-thawing shock.

Space boy pouts and lowers his hand. “Hmm. Human, Male, 27 earth cycles in age,” He says, ticking points off on his fingers. “I believe that is the most common greeting amongst humans with those specifications. Perhaps my pronunciation was incorrect. Sup—supp— _suuup_? Do I need to elongate the word further, or was my hand gesture of companionship lacking? I was attempting a high five—but you ‘ _left me hanging’.”_ Spaceboy says.

Seungcheol doesn't even bother to ask how he knows what language to communicate in.

He’s more curious at how far too sensible the guy sounds. Seungcheol thought the humiliation of slipping on a banana peel and being captured during a ration raid would have at least shaken a little of the sensible _out_ of him.

He shakes his head in an attempt to get a grip on the situation.

“You’re not—you’re not Human, are you?” Seungcheol says with a quaver in his voice.

The observation earns him what he assumes is an affronted look—it's difficult to tell under the circumstances—and a haughty, “No, of course not. Look at me. I’m clearly superior to your species in every way.”

Seungcheol scoffs.

Unbelievable.

Yeah—this is not going to plan at all.

“I dunno dude, you look pretty human to me.” Seungcheol replies, crossing his arms and adopting a slouched posture. Fuck proper decorum. Beautiful space angel or not, he might have to spank this guy.

Spaceboy frowns. Then, slowly, a flicker of something like recognition passes behind his eyes.

“Ah, _dude_ —a term of mutual companionship amongst males. Yes, I suppose I am your _dude_ now. I saved your life, you returned the favour by attempting to kill me. We are each other’s _dudes_.”

Seungcheol keeps his expression bland with difficulty. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, okay. I just wanted to capture you, to convince myself it wasn’t all in my head. You were floating in space for fucks sake—I mean—how do you even do that without a--”

“As I was saying before,” Spaceboy interrupts, as if he's used to cutting off other people's thoughts. “—I’m clearly a superior species.”

“No—you’re not.” Seungcheol stops, he honestly isn't sure whether to be offended or resigned. “You look human. You don’t even have that generic alien greeny blue tinted skin or anything.”

“How have you failed to notice my superiority in your intent examination of my body through the observation mirror?” Spaceboy answers, calm and sceptical.

Seungcheol doesn’t even have the wherewithal to contain his reaction to that. It’s not implausible for an Alien race to see through the illusion of a two-way mirror, but he didn’t think he’d been staring _that_ intently.

Or had he?

Seungcheol shakes his head to clear it. “Listen, you look……very nice. But that’s not the point. The point is -"

Oh, God, what was the point again?

“The point is— _superior_ is a pretty strong word to just throw around when your species don’t have any distinguishing features compared to us. _You look human_ —except maybe, you’re a little more—compact? Kind of small—by adult male standards anyway. What are you? Five foot three?”

That makes Spaceboy laugh, one quick, bright noise.

“Exactly. That’s what makes me superior. In comparison to your species, I am resourcefully sized.”

“You can say that again.” Seungcheol answers in his driest tone.

“I am resourcefully sized.” Spaceboy says again, because sarcasm doesn’t apply to him apparently. 

“Okay, fine. You’re small. Congratulations. That doesn’t make you superior.” Seungcheol snaps, resolve and patience fraying.

Spaceboy looks up at him from under a curl of hair as if he’s absolutely dense.

“Of course it does. I take up less space, and I use less resources. That makes me superior.”

Seungcheol snorts. “Maybe on your planet that’s worthy of celebration. But on Earth, we value people’s worth on other things. Just because you’re slim and……” Seungcheol makes an all encompassing gesture, “ _Sleek_ , doesn’t make you _better_.”

Spaceboy grows quiet for a moment.

He stares at Seungcheol thoughtfully before saying, “Sleek wasn’t the word you were going to use, was it.”

Seungcheol can't quite stop the tangle of embarrassment and confusion that comes on that.

Sleek _wasn’t_ the word he was going to use if he’s being honest. But his first choice wouldn’t have been appropriate for their first meet and greet.

A worrying thought suddenly occurs to him. "Hold on a minute. Are you reading my _mind_?"

Spaceboy offers him a slow, lazy blink.

"If you like."

"No...no,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I wouldn't like, please, I wouldn't like that at all."

Spaceboy nods slowly, "Very well. But I could—if I wanted to, which is another reason why our species are _far_ more superior to yours. Our intelligence and foresight are unparalleled.”

Seungcheol sighs and rolls his eyes. “And yet—I managed to capture you using the oldest trick in the book. If you’re so damn smart—why didn’t your Spidey senses warn you about the banana peel you slipped on?”

“Perhaps I _wanted_ you to capture me.” Spaceboy says.

There's a look there that's almost flirtatious, though Seungcheol suspects it's entirely accidental.

_“Did you?”_

“No.” Spaceboy pouts. “I was hungry, and running low on rations.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow. “Is that why you’ve been stealing food from me?”

Spaceboy levels him a disgusted look, like he would never do something so awful as 'steal,' and how dare Seungcheol be so honest as to label his blatant thievery as stealing.

“My ship malfunctioned when I traversed through the rift. I had to tether my vessel to yours to inspect the damage, but then discovered my communications system had also been damaged. I could not be assured that help would arrive despite my distress signal, so I ventured out on the off-chance I could find something on board this station I could utilise for the repairs. I did not realise it was inhabited until I saw you floating adrift, by which time I had already sabotaged a few of your radiation panels for parts and acquired a fuel cell. I would not have done so had I known a living being was on board. As for your rations—I only took what I needed to survive.”

Seungcheol makes a face. “Really? You need Cola to survive?”

Spaceboy’s gaze drops to the floor, as if the answer lies there.

“ _No_. But, you guarded it so carefully I was intrigued. Then when I had my first taste, I was captivated by its carbonated charm.”

Seungcheol tries not to eyeball Spaceboy while he waxes lyrical about the wonders of Cola. He thought _he_ had it bad.

“Did you ever think of—I dunno,” Seungcheol gestures erratically. “Knocking? Saying, _Hello, my ship’s broken—I need help_.”

Spaceboy frowns, as if it had honestly never occurred to him.

“I did attempt to approach you on several occasions. But you became so distressed, I retreated.”

Seungcheol huffs through his nose. That sure does explain a lot.

“Well—you were a half-naked floating man. I thought I was losing my fucking mind. Maybe the concept of space exploration is new to you, but in the future, when you come across a new species—don’t float towards them slowly, then disappear from view the minute they turn their back.”

Spaceboy at least has the decency to look chastised.

“I was attempting a tentative approach. I’ve never interacted with another life-form before.” He concedes reluctantly.

“No shit. Cause you suck at it.” 

It's the wrong thing for Seungcheol to say. What little candour has snuck into Spaceboy's expression vanishes, disappearing behind a guarded wall. 

“I did not intend to cause you harm. If you release me, I will return the items I took for repairs and untether my ship. My designation is to explore the galaxy, not to cause an incident between our--”

“No!” Seungcheol blurts out suddenly.

The word gets him a gently raised eyebrow. On a human that would be surprise, on him it manages to be something else entirely.

“ _No_?”

“You can’t leave.” Seungcheol says, before he's entirely sure he's going to say it.

Spaceboy makes a gesture at him which can only be described as huffy. “As I suspected. You have captured me as your prisoner. May I make one final request before you decapitate me?”

Seungcheol eyeballs him, “What? No—no. I’m not going to decapitate—” he struggles for the right words, runs an agitated hand through his hair, then sighs. “Sorry—that was a poor choice of words. What I meant was—you can stay here if you want. Till you fix your ship, or help comes.” He clarifies.

For a perfectly visible second Spaceboy looks honestly surprised, like he hadn't expected that at all.

For all his careful deductions Seungcheol has actually managed to surprise him.

“That seems to be a very impulsive decision on your part. From what I’ve observed of Humans, you are an impulsive species that often regret their choices later. Therefore, I would suggest you think carefully about your offer before you suggest it again.”

Seungcheol gets the distinct impression that this is his last chance to back out.

And he probably should.

It's crazy to make such a decision without consulting Central, when Seungcheol is painfully aware his judgment is compromised. But he fully intends to do it anyway.

"I haven't changed my mind, you’re welcome to stay." he says simply.

Spaceboy studies him, quite leisurely, as if judging something very important. At last his mouth thins not an unhappy line.

“That still seems very impulsive—"

“Look—pal.” Seungcheol interjects, blandly. “I’ve been living here by myself for 2 years, keeping the station running while the assholes back home record data about this section of space. It wouldn’t hurt to have company, and there’s plenty of room. Stay till your friends come rescue you, okay. I don’t bite.”

Spaceboy watches him silently for several seconds before nodding, tension easing from his shoulders.

He raises his hand in the air again, an oddly hopeful look on his face.

“High five?” He chirps, as though this slumber party in space is his idea. Obliging pixie, this one.

“Uh. _Alright_.” Seungcheol says, raising a hand.

It shouldn’t be possible to fuck up a high five, but somehow, they manage it.

Seungcheol ends up with his hand hovering in mid-air, while Spaceboy tilts forward and smacks him across the face for some reason.

Seungcheol hopes his expression conveys how unimpressed he is about that.

Spaceboy doesn’t even look sorry about it.

“Oh. I miscalculated the trajectory of your high-five. Shall we attempt that again?”

“How about a handshake instead?” Seungcheol says, pre-empting any unwanted follow-up by holding his hand out.

There's a very long pause where his hand is left alone in mid-air, long enough that Seungcheol starts to think Spaceboy has no intention of shaking hands. Maybe a hand shake in his world is actually a declaration of _war_ , or something else entirely. Like an invitation into some perverse sex act involving tentacles and human sacrifice.

Seungcheol’s not quite sure how to take his hand back without looking awkward—though looking awkward is something he's gradually admitting to himself is something he may have to get used to from now on.

Really the only way to do it is to just drop it, and pretend it doesn't bother him in the slightest. He's about to do exactly that when his hand is clasped, not with a tentacle—thank fuck—but with one of Spaceboy’s hands.

The shake hands briefly. Just long enough for Seungcheol to feel a pleasant tingle travel up his arm, a crackling all along his nerves, before Spaceboy slips his hand away.

“Jihoon.” Spaceboy adds, when that seems to be a useful piece of information. 

Seungcheol blinks at him stupidly, rubbing his still tingling palm against his pants leg. “What does that mean?”

Spaceboy flashes a patronizing smile. “It’s my _name_.”

“Oh. Right, right.” Seungcheol smiles sheepishly. “I’m Seungcheol. Nice to meet you.”


	2. Diplomatic Measures

Seungcheol would have expected to have more questions for an Alien, when he finally had the opportunity to meet one.

Questions about space travel and exotic worlds and advanced technological wonders. Maybe even a debate about the meaning of life that would actually put to rest some far out religious theories. He even expected a _‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’_ anatomy show and tell that would go a long way in settling his curiosity about the multiple hidden appendages Jihoon may or may not have.

Frustratingly, none of that happens.

It’s mostly Seungcheol’s fault.

There is a significant amount of need-to-know that he feels he really needs to know here, but he hasn’t exactly been trained in inter-species diplomacy. Or diplomacy of any kind really. And he can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound stupid or childish or could potentially spark an intergalactic _war_.

So, he’s carefully keeping his mouth shut, until he can think of something clever.

Most of his brain is still too busy processing the idea that Jihoon is _real_ , and not some figment of his imagination.

Although he can’t rule that theory out just yet.

Seungcheol’s no stranger to imaginary friends, and he’s had his fair share growing up on a military base with few other children around to play with. As he grew older, they’d slowly faded into obscurity—but they had been sources of comfort and entertainment when he was at his loneliest, helping him settle and adjust to new schools every time his family moved from base to base.

So it’s completely plausible that here, in the emptiness of space, Jihoon is a _grown-up_ version of one.

It would certainly explain why the alien looks so normal and, well— _un-alien_ like. Or why he can speak a human language so well. Seungcheol's still a little stuck on the fact that this supposed Alien speaks in a Gyeongsang dialect, which is oddly unexpected.

Of course, it could just be that Jihoon’s species are advanced enough to pick up a new form of communication in minutes. As is the likelihood of them studying human forms of communication in preparation for a full-scale alien invasion!

Seungcheol’s brain can’t decide on which, so he’s staying quiet until he can make sense of it all.

Jihoon seems disinclined to ask any questions either, so a strange, awkward silence has descended between them as they make their way from the Med-bay towards the East wing of the station, where the flight deck and personnel suites and other associated minutia of living are housed.

Seungcheol is attempting, in his own friendly way, to give Jihoon a tour of sorts—because that’s the _polite_ thing to do when you have a guest staying over. Alien or not.

Though Jihoon doesn’t seem all that interested by the technological aspects of the station itself and maintains the same politely bored expression throughout the tour, as if he’s already analysed everything and deemed it unworthy.

He does however, get excited over things you _wouldn’t_ expect.

Like the Guardians of the Galaxy Groot bobble head Seungcheol has sitting on the flight console.

When Jihoon first spots it, it's impossible to miss the way his face lights up in an instantaneous grin, eyes flashing bright and cheeks dimpling.

“What is it?” He asks, gesturing at the tiny figurine with excitable, twitchy fingers.

“It’s uhm—Groot. It’s a bobble head.” Seungcheol explains, reaching over the console to flick it.

The bobble head bounces back and forth and Jihoon’s giggling laughter catches Seungcheol off guard. He looks back at Jihoon, and find him grinning like an idiot, like a kid who’s just been given his golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. And he’s looking at Seungcheol like...

Like Seungcheol just performed a magic trick for him.

The sight makes Seungcheol's breath catch—leaves his chest feeling too tight with some emotion he refuses to name.

“It’s very impressive.” says Jihoon, smile somehow managing to spread wider on his face. “We don’t have anything like it on our home world.”

Seungcheol nods quietly. That’s probably for the best—seeing as they’ll inevitably be a source of distraction for their entire species.

Honestly. He’s never seen anyone so mesmerized by a bobble head before.

He stands back in silence as Jihoon ignores all the high-tech machinery and flight controls and flashing screen read-outs to poke at the Groot bobble head over and over, like a captivated kitten.

Seungcheol's half tempted to ask what his huge Alien brain is thinking, but his own is derailed when Jihoon speaks up first. 

“What is your designation?”

Seungcheol blinks and struggles to get it together enough to respond. “Ah—designation?”

“Objective? Role? Your purpose—for being on this station?” Jihoon clarifies. He is still playing with the figurine, but cocks his head to the side and says, without looking up, “I doubt you have chosen to live out here alone for _leisure_.”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s maintenance mostly. The station itself is a research base, but the computer does most of the research. I’m kind of just the pilot come caretaker.” Seungcheol answers.

Jihoon turns to face him fully at that. “So, you are _not_ a scientist?”

“Who— _me_? Hell no.” Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head. “Scientists are too valuable to be up here—I’m just the jarhead with nothing better to do.”

“A _soldier_ then.” Jihoon says carefully, nodding. “That explains your muscular physique and proficiency with firearms.”

Seungcheol's not sure if that's a compliment. He's tempted to treat it like a compliment. It's probably best to treat it like a compliment.

“Uh— _thanks_.”

“You have very large biceps.” Jihoon announces suddenly, standing up. He reaches out, fingers playing along Seungcheol’s arm. “They’re very—interesting. I like them.” He says with sincerity, giving the right one a little _squeeze_.

Seungcheol’s absolutely taking _that_ as a compliment, and he’s absolutely going to flex a little too, because he’s worked hard on his body and it’s about time someone was around to appreciate it.

Jihoon squeezes his bicep long enough for it to be weird—though he shows no signs of registering it as weird, and no intention of stopping either.

Seungcheol’s pretty happy to let him continue, as long as he refrains from squeezing him curiously _elsewhere_.

“We do not have soldiers on my home planet.” Jihoon offers suddenly, dropping his hand—then doesn't say anything else.

Perhaps he thinks the pause makes him sound _mysterious_.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Let me guess—cause you’ve evolved past primitive concepts like _war_. You’re a timid, peace faring people who resolve all their differences with healthy debate and _research_.”

“Precisely.” Jihoon chirps, failing to detect Seungcheol’s healthy smattering of sarcasm.

“So, what—you’re an entire race of super intelligent scientists?” Seungcheol scoffs again. “No offence, but that sounds _dull_.”

“It can be sometimes.” Jihoon murmurs. There's something odd about the way he says it, a stiffness that says he's not used to telling people about himself, maybe not used to other people at all. “It is one of the many reasons I embarked on this journey. I wished to explore the galaxies and seek out new forms of life—compare them to our race. I have observed 32 different species since, but humanity is the one I find the most fascinating.”

“Really?” Seungcheol blinks, “Why?”

Jihoon steps around him to look out the viewport, hands crossed behind his back. “Earth has a multitude of cultural, religious and racial differences, yet you humans manage to exist— _relatively_ harmoniously with each other. All other species I have observed tend to conform with a single way of life, or destroy each other in conflict when they differ. Although you are a technologically underdeveloped species—I think there is much to learn from your ability to _co-habitate.”_

Seungcheol grins, a little proud. “Yeah—we’re pretty awesome.”

Jihoon smiles at him over his shoulder, “And you have large biceps.”

Seungcheol smirks. “You’re an arms guy, huh? Don’t blame ya.” He flexes deliberately, for show. “My swans are pretty sick right now.”

Jihoon turns to face him, giving him a very slow and deliberate once over that lingers at his lower region longer than is strictly appropriate.

“I wish to examine _more_ of your body, if you’ll allow me.” He says, in a weird, awed sort of voice.

It's the tone, more than the words, that leaves Seungcheol blinking in surprise. He is sure there's a sensible answer to that. Somewhere.

“Are you asking me to get naked?”

That’s probably not it, but the words escape Seungcheol’s mouth before he can’t stop them.

Thankfully, Jihoon doesn’t take him up on the offer immediately.

He shakes his head, “Not now. It must be in your natural habitat. If you are aware that you’re are being observed, it will affect the validity of my results. I will examine you when you least expect it.”

“ _Okayyy_.” Seungcheol drawls, and it's somewhere between good-natured and 'ready to be freaked out.'

The idea of Jihoon observing him when he least expects it is not very reassuring.

They move on from the flight deck to the recreation room, then down to the Greenhouse for a spell, before finally approaching the living quarters.

“What is this room?” Jihoon asks just as they reach a door at the end of the corridor, doors sliding open automatically.

“Oh, uh—this is the bathroom.” Seungcheol says, standing back as Jihoon steps inside.

Jihoon’s head tilts this way and that, then recognition flickers across his face. “What a relief. For a moment I was beginning to fear your species _ingested_ your own faeces.”

“Ew— _what_?” Seungcheol gapes, but Jihoon’s already distracted examining the toilet bowl intently.

“Interesting.” He mumbles, tapping his chin. “We have a similar design for faecal matter disposal on our world. I did not expect to find it here too. Thankfully, your species are more advanced than I originally presumed.”

“So your species shit too huh?” Seungcheol says, crossing his arms. “And here I thought you were going to claim your species is _above_ shitting altogether.”

“I believe our digestive systems are much the same.” Jihoon explains, missing or possibly ignoring the sharpness of Seungcheol’s voice. And then, the furrow at the centre of his brow deepens with fresh confusion, “Of course I can’t be certain of that until I thoroughly examine your lower digestive tract.”

Seungcheol doesn't answer for a long count of ten: choosing to let the silence speak his shock for him.

“If I didn’t know any better…. I would swear you’re coming on to me.” He says, suspiciously.

That gets him the patented 'I have no idea what you're talking about' face of sideways-ness from Jihoon. Who really shouldn’t be allowed to say things like ‘I like your biceps’ and ‘I may wish to anally probe you’ and make out like _Seungcheol’s_ the weird one.

“What does this button do?” Jihoon asks, gesturing at the toilet flush.

He doesn’t wait for Seungcheol to answer before pushing it _down_.

The sound of the toilet flushing proceeds a high-pitched scream and a comical scramble, right into Seungcheol’s arms. Before Seungcheol knows what’s happening, Jihoon’s clawing at his shoulders, trying to climb over him by the look and feel of it.

“Woah, easy— _easy_.” Seungcheol breathes, too stunned to do much more than hold the petite Alien steadily. Possibly because he hasn't worked up enough 'what the hell?' yet.

Soon enough the roaring sound of the flush— _and Jihoon’s squealing_ —die down, and the alien goes limp and breathless in his arms. 

“What was that?” Jihoon pants, fingers still curled around Seungcheol’s shoulders in a death grip.

Seungcheol quirks a surprised brow at him. “I was about to ask you the same question. Why did you react like that?”

Jihoon looks up at him, eyes blown wide. He wrinkles his nose. “It _yelled_ at me.”

Seungcheol barely stifles a snort. He lets his hold on Jihoon ease, takes a step away, just barely outside the bubble of Jihoon's personal space.

“It’s just the flush. Toilets flush—yanno, to _dispose_ of the waste.”

Jihoon glances over his shoulder at the toilet, his cheeks turn a displeased shade of pink. “Why must it do it so loudly?”

Seungcheol bites his lip. He’s having trouble keeping a straight face. “I dunno. Maybe cause it had bigger aspirations in life, but now it’s just a toilet and it’s angry about people sitting on its face all the time.”

Jihoon makes a very quiet noise of surprise.

He seems to approve of that explanation, which may be the most unintentionally hilarious thing ever.

They spend almost half an hour in the bathroom together, just so Jihoon can acclimatise himself to the sound of the flush without scaring himself. Then another ten minutes just discovering the wonders of hand soap and toilet paper.

Seungcheol’s never spent so much time in a bathroom before, and definitely not with another person there—asking him questions.

He never thought that such simple everyday objects would be so fascinating to an Alien, but watching Jihoon admire the texture of triple-quilted toilet roll gives him a new appreciation for life’s little luxuries.

* * *

“This can be your room.” Seungcheol says, leading Jihoon into the spare room.

It’s a small space compared to Seungcheol’s quarters, minimally furnished with the essentials and noticeably lacking a viewport. It’s a tad too clinical for Seungcheol’s tastes, but serves its function as a spare bunk when two flight officers are on board during transfer of duty. 

Jihoon walks the circuit of the room like he's slumming, picks up a paperweight on the small desk, and puts it down again, dismissively. 

_You just had the time of your life exploring the bathroom kid. Maybe tone down the princess act—_ Seungcheol thinks, but knows better than to voice out loud.

“I know it’s pretty sparse,” He says, fiddling with the temperature control dial on the wall, “But the station is designed to house one person at a time and every inch of space up here has to be accounted for. It will probably look homier when you’ve moved your stuff in.”

“Stuff?” Jihoon repeats slowly, as if he’s weighing the meaning on the word. “If by that—you mean belongings, I am not in possession of any. We are a simplistic race that do not hold sentimental attachment to objects of materialistic value. I only ever carry my tricorder for research purposes.” He explains, retrieving something tucked under the strap stretched over his hip.

Seungcheol half expects some sort of shiny, eyeball melting cutting-edge technology—but Jihoon’s ‘ _Tricorder’_ looks like a pretty run of the mill _Dictaphone_. Either that or alien technology disguised to look like an ordinary Dictaphone.

“This is my tricorder,” Jihoon explains, holding it up proudly. “It has many uses, but I mainly use it to analyse samples and record my research. It’s my most valued tool. Would you like to inspect it?”

“Oh, uhm, no. I’m good thanks.” Seungcheol refuses—only to belatedly wonder if that's rude.

What constitutes rude to an alien? Do aliens even _have_ rudeness?

Seungcheol wasn’t trying to be rude, but he’s afraid of accidentally blowing up the space station with Jihoon’s Dictaphone.

Jihoon pouts and tucks the Tricorder away quietly, confirming Seungcheol’s fear that he’s offended him in some way by not showing more interest in his snazzy Alien Dictaphone.

“What is this item?” Jihoon asks next. Completely unaware of Seungcheol having a minor panic attack—or at least he hopes he's unaware of it.

Seungcheol turns to see Jihoon pointing at a toothbrush, nestled amongst some spare toiletries on the nightstand. His fingers are hovering close, but not touching, like he's afraid the toothbrush will _yell_ at him.

“It’s a toothbrush.” Seungcheol explains.

“A tooth- _brush_?” Jihoon echoes, “What does it do?” He adds with a quizzical wrinkle of his forehead.

Seungcheol is irrationally annoyed by the very difficulty of having to explain what a toothbrush is.

“The name pretty much says it all. A tooth brush is for brushing your teeth. Cleaning them.”

“I _see_.” Jihoon drawls, like that fact hadn’t been obvious from the start.

He’s braver about picking it up now, examining it intently as he holds it up towards the light.

“How prehistoric. Are you not in possession of any Dexymethoflurocynic mist?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at Seungcheol expectantly.

“Uh—no. All out of that.” Seungcheol scratches his head and shrugs. “Just good old-fashioned toothpaste and elbow grease.”

Jihoon actually pauses at that, like he might be thinking. Seungcheol isn't sure what that means, but he hopes it's a good sign.

“Why would I require elbow grease to cleanse my mouth? Surely such a thing would be best suited—for the elbow?”

For a minute Seungcheol thinks he’s making a joke. But no—Jihoon looks absolutely serious. He’s still frowning at the toothbrush, like it's complicated rocket science or something. Though what does Seungcheol know, maybe to an Alien it is. Maybe something as simple as a toothbrush is bewildering to an advanced race.

“I will require more of these.” Jihoon announces, thumbing the bristles of his toothbrush.

“What? Why? You don’t need a separate toothbrush for every tooth.” Seungcheol points out. Then his gaze drifts lower unconsciously. “Unless you have teeth hiding somewhere I don’t _know_ about.”

Jihoon sighs, like he’s read his mind. “No. I only intend to use one for it’s original purpose. The others I require for experimentation.”

“You want to experiment…..on a toothbrush?” Seungcheol says dryly.

“Yes. I must learn all its secrets.” Jihoon says in that unnecessarily portentous tone he’s so fond of.

“There are no secrets—it’s a toothbrush.”

Jihoon frowns, head tilted. “How can you be sure if you’ve never conducted an experiment yourself?”

Seungcheol resists the urge to cross his arms. He has nothing to be defensive about here. “I _have_ conducted an experiment. I conduct experiments all the time—at night, when I brush my teeth, and first thing in the morning too. Sometimes I conduct experiments with my toothbrush after a meal. And _sometimes_ I use a spare toothbrush to clean in between the spaces of my keyboard.”

“ _Really_.” Jihoon gasps, eyeballing the toothbrush like it’s just gotten 200% more interesting.

If possible, he holds the toothbrush more reverently than before. Seungcheol never thought he would see someone stare worshipfully at a toothbrush, but there you go.

“You must share your findings with me. I’m sure you have much valued data you can share.” Jihoon adds excitedly.

“Sure. Whatever. I’ll send you my _thesis_.” Seungcheol says, because yeah, he's just going to go with that.

He quickly moves over the storage locker in the corner and yanks it open, before they end up spending all day talking about toothbrushes.

“Since you don’t have any of your own, there’s spare clothing in here you can have.” Seungcheol says, pulling out a vacuum-packed set of regulation clothing and dropping it on the bed. “I doubt we keep your size, but they’re warm at least. I’m sure you must be uhm… _freezing_.” He drawls, carefully not staring at the obvious lack of clothing. 

Jihoon waves his free hand. "No, I’m fine. My body will adjust my temperature soon enough. It’s advanced like that."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes because of course Jihoon’s not cold, his magnificently advanced brain probably keeps him warm after all.

"Still, you're practically naked." Seungcheol says, perhaps a little too hurriedly.

Jihoon turns around, momentarily losing interest in the toothbrush to give Seungcheol a puzzled look.

He seems to think the barely there straps are fine.

The barely there straps are _not_ fine.

Certainly not the way Jihoon is wearing them. Or, _not_ wearing them to be precise.

Jihoon sets the toothbrush down on the nightstand and glances down at his _not-clothing_ with a frown. “My uniform may look simple, but the material is highly advanced and durable. It’s designed specifically for space travel. Don’t you like it?”

Seungcheol swallows thickly, still trying not to look at the amount of bare flesh on display.

"It's certainly _different_." He says, in what he hopes is an appropriately casual tone of voice.

Jihoon looks...complicated at that.

"Am I to understand that in this context 'different' does not necessarily mean good?"

“No, it’s just….” Seungcheol trails off awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He wonders whether to be honest answering that, or whether to be diplomatic. He eventually decides that there's no way he can keep 'diplomatic' up for however long Jihoon will be staying here. “Don’t you _have_ more modest clothing in your world, or do you all walk around half naked all the time?”

Jihoon doesn't look offended, he seems more pleased at Seungcheol's inability to be diplomatic. “Clothing is such a confining construct. Our species have evolved beyond the need for excessive fabrics.”

“It’s not about a _need_.” Seungcheol grits out. “Humans don’t _need_ to wear clothes to survive. Unless they live in extreme climates or something. Clothing has other uses, albeit fashion, or culture or representation. Most importantly, it’s about the _comfort_ of other people. Strolling around half naked around practical strangers is _kind of_ frowned upon.”

Jihoon's mouth tilts up at the corner. A smile that's barely there. His head tilts, white hair covering one of his eyes. “So—does my current attire cause you _discomfort_?”

Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, a little bit.”

Jihoon looks like he's tucking that piece of information away for later. “What a fussy, pedantic species you humans are.”

“Just put on some damn clothes.” Seungcheol snaps, exasperation is warring audibly with his desperation, and at this point he doesn’t even care whether that's suggestive, or incriminating. Or some other complicated thing that gets him in trouble. Because trying to police his own brain when he's around a beautiful, naked alien is, most likely, the fastest way to send him completely round the bend.

“As you wish.” Jihoon sighs, pushing one of straps down his shoulder.

“Woah, woah, hold up.” Seungcheol raises his hands quickly to stop him mid strip. He laughs, quick and breathless, then edges towards the door. “Wait till I get out of the room first.”

Jihoon looks genuinely surprised at that, like he expected Seungcheol to sit and _watch_ him take his straps off in the pursuit of science or something.

* * *

When Jihoon emerges from his room moments later, he looks a lot less like an ethereal half naked alien and more like a……

Well, he’s pretty fucking adorable if Seungcheol’s being honest.

The white long-sleeved shirt swallows him up and hangs off the ends of his hands like paws. Size-wise, the pants are even worse. They droop down past his ankles and cover his feet entirely. It leaves him looking no less ethereal than before, but significantly less naked, which was mostly what Seungcheol had been aiming for.

“You are correct about these not being my size.” Jihoon mumbles, frowning down at the way the cuffs of his pants sag.

“ _Yeah_.” Seungcheol sighs wistfully—then makes himself stop staring, before it becomes obvious that he's staring.

Jihoon takes a step forward, but as he does, his foot gets caught in the cuff of his too long pants and he topples.

Seungcheol catches his arm before he falls over, righting him quickly on his feet.

“These are extremely hazardous.” Jihoon huffs. He rubs the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed. “How am I supposed to move unhindered when the material is clearly designed to hinder my movement!”

“Just—roll em up.” Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon gives him a helplessly frustrated look from under his hair. “Roll em up?”

Seungcheol sighs, dropping to one knee. He rolls up the cuffs of Jihoon’s joggers until they just brush his ankles—but leaves the sweater paws as they are, because they’re _precious_.

“There we are.” He smiles, straightening up again. “I’m sure we can find a safety pin somewhere and secure them in place. Stop them from rolling down again. Or we could just trim them to your length if you like.”

Jihoon makes a noise in his throat, curious. “How innovative of you. Show me how you did that again—but on these,” He says, lifting his sweater paws into view. “I must document it—for my research.”

Seungcheol presses his finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose and exhales.

Something tells him this living arrangement is going to be exhausting.

* * *

Exhausting turns out to be mostly true, since Jihoon has a million and one questions about every inanimate object he interacts with on the station. Which Seungcheol supposes is _somewhat_ understandable given the curious nature of his species. But for an Alien interested in studying humans, Jihoon doesn't seem to be interested in perfecting his knowledge of social convention, or observation of personal space, and he has a certain...offensive form of honesty.

Almost a weaponised form, if Seungcheol's being honest.

“Your ears stick out quite obviously.” Jihoon point out, observing Seungcheol’s ears intently like they’re more fascinating than his own. 

Seungcheol scratches behind his left ear self-consciously.

“Yeah, well…..”He flounders for something insulting to reply with, "You’re _short_.”

Jihoon cocks his head to one side without speaking. He kind of looks like a cat that can't decide whether to scratch someone when he does that head tilt thing.

“Yes. We already established that my species are smaller than yours earlier. I believe we both agreed it made me superior.” He says, just as confidently as he says everything else.

Seungcheol makes a face. “No, we didn’t!”

Jihoon has the _gall_ to roll his eyes at him.

“Regardless. I am not interested in discussing my species. I’d much prefer to discuss your ears. Why do they stick out so much? Does it give you heightened hearing?” He asks, looking honestly curious.

Seungcheol glares at him for that.

He doesn't _think_ Jihoon is mocking him, although he has no way of being sure. He blows out a frustrated breath, then rises from his seat because he has definitely reached his _'being unintentionally insulted by Aliens_ ,' limit. 

“Look—as flattering as this conversation is, I really need to get to work. I got maintenance to take care of…and other shit.”

Jihoon stands too, looking excited. “Excellent. This will give me a good opportunity to observe you in your natural routine. Continue as you would normally. Pretend like I’m not here.”

Which really is easier said then done, especially when Jihoon proceeds to follow him around the station like a stray kitten—always hovering a good distance away, but still visible in Seungcheol’s periphery. Occasionally he’ll mumble something into his tricorder, but mostly it’s just long tense minutes of blank staring, as if Seungcheol might, at any moment, do something interesting and he doesn't want to miss it.

If Seungcheol ever just stops what he’s doing and stares back—Jihoon holds his position, and they end up just staring at each other silently for an age.

Seungcheol should probably be flattered by the attention, but being the sole focus of Jihoon’s current fascination is unnerving and frankly, a little dangerous.

He’s so distracted by Jihoon’s presence he cocks up more than a few routine maintenance tasks. Tasks he’s completes a hundred time before and _usually_ with eyes closed. He has to start from scratch more often than not, and the most annoying thing is—he _knows_ Jihoon’s documenting it all. He’s compiling a list somewhere, about the clumsiness of humans and it’s all because of Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s telegraphing his actions now, overthinking every movement—just in case Jihoon records it his research or uses it to generalise the behaviours of the entire human race. It’s a colossal pain in the ass second guessing yourself, but Seungcheol doesn’t want to be the one responsible for the Alien research article titled: O _bservational study of humans and their ass scratching habits._

It continues like this for much of the day, until Seungcheol heads down to the flight deck to initiate a few scheduled scans and hears a sharp yelp from somewhere behind him.

Panicking, he drops his data pad on the flight console and rushes back up to steps to the main level. Rounding the corner quickly, he stumbles upon Jihoon curled up on the floor. He’s clutching his foot and swearing under his breath, sharp hissed out consonants which Seungcheol can't decipher.

“Shit—what happened?” Seungcheol says quickly, forehead denting in a deep frown as he studies the petite Alien for signs of injury.

Everything looks intact, but there could be a fracture he can’t see, internal bleeding that’s not immediately obvious.

“I have been injured.” Jihoon croaks out.

Seungcheol crouches down next to him, rubbing a soothing hand down his back. “Where? How?”

“I was attacked, by that—that _thing_.” Jihoon whimpers, gesturing at a metal column that acts as a support between the two decks.

Seungcheol stares at the metal column and deduces that the likelihood of it moving from where it’s literally welded into the floor to ‘attack’ Jihoon is very improbable. It’s far more likely that Jihoon ran into it when he was distracted with his _observations_.

“So, what you’re saying is—you stubbed your toe?”

Jihoon huffs quietly, as though this distinction is clearly a gross simplification.

“Yes. But I do not feel that s _tubbed_ is a suitably grave word for the pain I’m experiencing.”

Seungcheol sighs, relieved it’s not something more serious. “Well—that’s what happens when you walk around the station barefoot. I’ll try and find you some suitable footwear later. Just be happy you didn’t step on a Lego brick.” He reassures him.

Jihoon doesn't look reassured.

In fact, if anything he looks even less happy now, and seriously, any more misery and his face is going to turn itself inside out.

“I am injured.” Jihoon sniffs, in a tragically unbearable way, and now there are tears in the corner of his eyes, and Seungcheol gets it—he does; stubbing your toe is right up there in the pain spectrum alongside childbirth and getting kicked in the balls, but he refuses to believe that this might be the first time Jihoon’s stubbed his toe and says as much.

“C’mon, this can’t be the first time you’ve stubbed your toe.”

“It is.” Jihoon sniffs quietly, “Your vessel has such a cumbersome design, very unlike the sleek, safe design of our ships. Now my toe has fallen victim to its structural ungainliness.” He sniffs again, lip curling into a pout. “You will have to amputate my foot.”

Seungcheol can't help the short bark of laughter that comes out of him. Then decides to hell with it, and just laughs outright. It’s loud and gut-heaving, the kind of laughter that feels bottomless.

Jihoon's eyes go wide with surprise and then bright with outrage. He glares at Seungcheol, like he’s not being sympathetic enough, then shifts his gaze to glare accusingly at his foot like it conspired on being stubbed without his consent, then he ducks his head and sniffs again.

“You mock my pain.” He murmurs, looking up at Seungcheol through his fringe, eyes wide and wet, making Seungcheol feel gooey and guilty.

“Aww, hey, don’t be sad.” Seungcheol coos, wiping at his eyes. “Yeah, it hurts, but the pain will fade away soon enough. Here, let me look.” He says, kneeling down and capturing Jihoon’s ankle.

He would have expected due to the lack of shoes that Jihoon’s feet would be tough. He expected to find hard skin, calluses or even scars across the bottom. But Jihoon’s feet are nothing like he’s expecting.

They’re weirdly perfect.

Now, Seungcheol’s never considered himself to be one of those foot fetishizing weirdo’s, but he might have to start making expectations because Jihoon’s feet are easily the prettiest he’s ever seen—pink soles, cute tiny toe beans, nails shiny and delicate.

“You’ve got the cutest feet, Kitten,” Seungcheol says, letting his fingers drift up and down the instep, skin so smooth he can barely feel it.

Jihoon has the most adorably surprised expression. “I do?”

“Oh yeah—the cutest. Really adorable stuff right here.” Seungcheol pinches one toe gently, which feels like an oddly protective gesture. “Shame you want to amputate it.”

Jihoon curls forward on the floor, stares curiously at his own feet. “I see no other solution.”

“I don’t know about that. We could always try this—” Seungcheol says, curling his fingers round the warmth of Jihoon's bare toes and massaging them gently to rub the ache away.

After a few minutes of gentle massaging, Seungcheol can feel Jihoon flexing his toes gently in response, sniffing slowly subsiding.

“Better?” He asks with a smile. 

Jihoon curls his toes, a small furrow forming between his brows. “Marginally. But I fear I’ll never walk again.”

“Oh geez, you’re so melodramatic.” Seungcheol says, rolling his eyes. He's going to laugh again, he can feel it coming.

It’s a ploy for attention, obviously—a painfully _transparent_ ploy. But that doesn’t stop Seungcheol from marshalling all his charm and consoling his alien gest.

He carries Jihoon to the kitchen—because you know, he’s _incapacitated_. Once there, he ices the ‘injury’ with a bag of frozen peas then slaps on a band-aid, though it really doesn’t require it. He even ‘kisses it better’ for good measure—which Jihoon is inordinately pleased about and demands another kiss immediately. Jihoon’s even more delighted when they return to the scene of the crime and Seungcheol _scolds_ the metal column for hurting him, dimpling magnificently like justice has been served.

* * *

By 7pm centralized time, Seungcheol’s got the kitchen smelling warm and delicious.

It's an easy meal, noodles boiling on the stove and pork broth bubbling in the pot beside it, but it still leaves him feeling edgy. Domesticated. He’s been cooking this same dish for years, but for some reason he’s trying extra hard tonight. He’s pulling out all the stops, making the broth from scratch, picking out the best cuts of meat and even has some garnishing’s on hand to spice it all up.

He hears footsteps behind him as he turns the stove off, the soft pad of bare feet as Jihoon steps through the rec room door and into the kitchen.

Seungcheol doesn't have to turn around to acknowledge him, because Jihoon’s already _there_ —trying to peer over his arm and study what he’s doing.

Seungcheol wonders if Aliens understand the searing pain of hot kitchen utensils, and whether they’re going to have to have a conversation that goes like, _‘Saucepan. Fire. Hot. No touching’._

“What are you doing?” Jihoon asks, looking for all the world like he’s a second away from climbing on top of the stove to investigate.

Seungcheol pauses with his hand halfway to reaching the salt. “Cooking?”

Jihoon tilts his head, curious and surprised. “You don’t sound so sure about that?”

Seungcheol grabs the salt, sprinkles some into his palm and tosses it in. “I’m just surprised that you don’t know what it is.” He dips a spoon in to taste the broth. Perfect. “Don’t your species cook?”

Jihoon’s mouth twists at the corner. “No.” There's a long, strange pause before he speaks again. “What are you _cooking_?”

“Ramyun. It’s nice, and it’s nearly ready—so you can judge for yourself if you like.”

The silence is answer enough, and since it would be rude to leave his guest waiting, Seungcheol dishes out a bowl, garnishes it and sets it on the table for Jihoon to eat.

Jihoon takes a seat without having to be urged, but with a grudging reluctance that Seungcheol suspects is for show.

The Ramyun is very good, Seungcheol knows because he’d perfected his recipe in college—but Jihoon stares down at it like it’s a veritable bowl of rabies.

“Try it. It’s good.” Seungcheol urges, taking his own bowl over to the table. He picks up a pair of chopsticks and holds them up high, to demonstrate how to hold them for Jihoon to see, before tucking in himself.

Jihoon picks up his own set of chopsticks carefully, and after a moment of glancing back and forth, adjusts his grip on them to match Seungcheol’s.

He takes his first mouthful of noodles with a noisy slurp and looks weirdly pleased, in a completely not human sort of way. His second mouthful is less successful; he loses his grip of the chopsticks slightly and ends up with noodles hanging down his chin and then stares at Seungcheol at a loss of what to do with them. At Seungcheol’s urging, he slowly slurps them up and begins to chew, making quiet, appreciative noises.

Grinning, Seungcheol reaches over to helpfully re-adjust his grip on the chopsticks—only for Jihoon to slap his hand down on the table loudly.

In a flash, the Alien’s eyes turn dark blue and flinty and he hisses at Seungcheol, actually _hisses_ —like a small kitten protecting his food against thievery.

“Jesus—relax.” Seungcheol huffs, eyebrow quirked. “I was just going to fix your grip on the chopsticks.”

Jihoon looks appropriately shamefaced at that, and doesn’t protest when Seungcheol reaches over a second time.

They eat in companionable silence, Jihoon stopping every now and then to adjust his grip on the chopsticks before diving back in with vigour. He seems to be enjoying it, and completely empties his bowl—even eating the pretty woody, kind of inedible lemongrass stalk Seungcheol forgot to fish out.

When he’s finished, Jihoon sets down his chopsticks, then stares down at the bowl quietly, like he thinks the experience is a _once in a lifetime_ thing and he’s sad it’s over.

“You liked that—didn’t you?” Seungcheol knows he's grinning, he can feel it splitting his cheeks.

“Yes.” Jihoon says, still staring down at his empty bowl. His voice sounds both confused and annoyed, almost too low for Seungcheol to hear.

Seungcheol tosses his napkin down on the table and reaches over to take Jihoon’s bowl. “Would you like _more_?”

“Yes!” Jihoon shoots back immediately, and Seungcheol has to laugh.

* * *

After dinner they retire to the recreation room. Seungcheol has a much-needed stiff drink as he stargazes in the seating by the window, while Jihoon pokes around the room like a hyperactive mouse in a lab maze sensing cheese. 

The lighting in the recreation room is always subdued at this hour, as if a timer on the station suddenly realizes that hey, it’s late evening, time to encourage a more relaxed atmosphere, and soon enough Seungcheol can feel his eyelids dropping, his mind drifting.

It’s embarrassing, especially when Jihoon asks him a question and Seungcheol pulls his head up and blinks, pretending he hasn't been fading.

"I'm sorry," Seungcheol says around a jaw cracking yawn. “Guess I’m pretty beat. Think I’ll hit the hay.”

Jihoon frowns confusion, like none of what Seungcheol just said made any sense to him. Which, when Seungcheol thinks about it, probably doesn’t to an Alien.

“What I mean is, I’m going into my room. To _rest_.” Seungcheol clarifies.

“Oh, okay.” Jihoon nods. He takes a seat on one of the low-lying chairs and tucks his feet underneath him. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“What? No.” Seungcheol blurts out.

Jihoon turns his head to look at him, and frowns. It's easy enough to work out that Jihoon doesn't understand _why_ he can’t just sit around and wait for him. Because he was absolutely ready to.

 _Seriously_? Was he just going to wait here for eight hours while Seungcheol slept?

Seungcheol doesn't know whether to laugh, or just feel tragically, unbearably sad for him.

“You don’t have to wait for me. You can do your own thing—rest in your room, explore the ship, poke through my toiletries again if you like. As long as you don’t interfere with the station itself or tamper with its trajectory, you can pretty much do anything you want. Make yourself at home.” He says earnestly.

Jihoon just looks at him for a moment, before he nods.

“Okay then. Uhm— _Goodnight_.” Seungcheol says, ruffling Jihoon’s hair as he slips out of the room.

* * *

Seungcheol shuffles easily through his nightly routine, brushing his teeth and donning his sleepwear, dimming the lights before climbing into bed. The glitter of the stars though the viewport still illuminates the room fractionally, but he doesn’t bother lowering the blinds as he gets comfortable under the covers and lets his eyes slip shut. Not a minute later, he snaps them open and rolls his head to the side to find his Alien guest watching him from a foot away.

There's a slim possibility he's about to be murdered—or experimented on.

He'd really hate for this day to end with him being experimented on, probably in some horribly undignified way. Anal probing comes to mind.

He crosses the idea of impending murder and experimentation out a second later, when Jihoon leans ever so slightly towards him. The posture looks strangely _inquisitive_.

“Why are you lying down Human? Are you injured?”

“I’m not _injured_.” Seungcheol huffs, sitting up. “I was trying to get some sleep.”

“Ah, sleep.” Jihoon laughs, sounding for all the world like he thinks sleep is a quaint but unnecessary pastime. “One of the greatest human weaknesses. We have evolved past that.”

Seungcheol blinks and shakes his head to clear it. “Wha—how?”

Smiling, Jihoon drops down to sit on the edge of the bed, careless and at ease in Seungcheol's private space. “It’s very simple really. Many cycles ago, one of our greatest minds designed a solution to ensure we never required sleep again. All the benefits of rest were harnessed into this sphere, which we consume once every three cycles—”

“Cycles?” Seungcheol offers, because that seems to be the most interesting word there.

“It’s the equivalent of one of your Earth days.” Jihoon dismisses quickly. He roots around in his pants pocket and pulls out a clear vial, half filled with tiny white spheres shaped capsules. “We call it _Restoril_ , and each dose is synthesized according to the users requirements, allowing us to function at maximum efficiency without wasting valuable time we once required for resting. As a result, we have been able to advance leagues ahead of other life forces in the galaxy.”

Seungcheol takes a minute to let that sink in, and ends up more than a little disappointed when it flatly refuses to. “I can’t believe your species doesn’t sleep. I mean—it’s _sleep_. Everyone sleeps. Sleep’s awesome.”

Jihoon makes a face that says he patently disagrees. “If given a choice, would you choose sleep—or scientific advancement?”

“ _Sleep_.” Seungcheol replies, without missing a beat.

Jihoon frowns, like that was clearly the wrong choice. “This explains a lot about your species. Sleep is such a waste of time, and according to my studies, you spend a third of your lifespan partaking in it when you good be advancing. Think of all the glorious discoveries you could make if you put that time to better use.”

Seungcheol pretends to think about the glorious discoveries, when really all he’s thinking about is glorious sleep.

“What happens if you don’t take it?” He asks, gesturing at the vial of spheres still held in Jihoon’s palm.

“I’m not certain.” Jihoon says, uncertainly. He shakes the vial from side to side, a familiar frown creasing his brow. “It’s not something I have ever considered before, but based on the length of time I have been using them, and the considerable energy it supplies me with—I’d likely slip into a coma.”

Seungcheol’s mouth drops open. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Jihoon says, mouth quirking oddly, amusement and irritation in one.

“What if there’s a shortage?” Seungcheol probes, curiously.

Jihoon's face goes strangely still and serious. “That would never happen.”

“Oh?” Seungcheol arches an amused eyebrow at him. “You sound very _sure_ of that. As a scientist, surely you should be using practical logical reasoning to consider all eventualities where there may be a failure in the supply chain, regardless of how improbable they may seem. Take your current situation for instance. Say you distress beacon doesn’t work and nobody comes looking for you—say you can’t travel back through the rift you came through—how will you get your hands on any more of those little _pills_?”

Jihoon makes a noise, which seems to indicate he'd never miss something so obvious, then stares down at the vial in his palm before pocketing it again. He pulls a face like he’s learnt something he hadn’t expected today.

“I believe you have made a sound deduction, Human.” He offers at last, slowly and quietly, as if admitting the fact that he caved to sensation is something scandalous.

Seungcheol sighs, “Seriously, just call me Seungcheol.”

Jihoon continues over him easily. “I cannot be certain there won’t be a yet as unforeseen factor that will impact on availability, just as I can’t be sure my people will come for me. Therefore, I must prepare myself accordingly for any such eventuality.”

Seungcheol gives a stiff nod, “Good idea.”

Jihoon rises up from the bed, with purpose. “I will travel backwards through time and design a—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Seungcheol waves his hands in _hold your horses_ sort of gesture. “How about you just—wean yourself off the stuff? Okay. That’s simpler. Just take one every other cycle, and try sleeping a little instead? If you’re less dependent on them, a shortage won’t affect you so much.”

“Sleep.” Jihoon repeats, considering. “Such a primitive shackle, yet perhaps my only salvation. I’m not sure I can manage it however, I have not attempted sleep since I was a tiny seedling.”

“Seedling?” Seungcheol hears himself repeat. Because in Jihoon's world that probably made perfect sense. “You mean a baby?”

Jihoon makes a disapproving face. “I was not ejected from a womb like a human. I sprouted in a conception chamber—alongside my five million siblings.”

“ _Five million_ —” Seungcheol shakes his head, as if he can force that sentence to make sense. “Okay, this sounds like a conversation for another day. I think for now, we should try and get some sleep.”

Jihoon fidgets with his sweater paws, looks down, his toes curling and uncurling against the hard floor. “I don’t know how. Will you teach me?”

“Dear god in heaven.” Seungcheol says mildly, then lets out a long, exasperated breath through his nose, “Alright fine. It’s not that hard. You just need to find somewhere to lie down, somewhere comfortable.”

Jihoon nods—then drops to the floor. He seems to think the floor is a suitable choice for maximum comfort.

“No, no—not the floor!” Seungcheol huffs.

He can’t believe they’ve failed at the first hurdle. And honestly, it’s not even a hurdle.

Sleep should not _have_ hurdles.

Shoving the bedsheets down, he shifts over in his bunk to make room and pats the space next to him. “Come on—lie down next to me.”

It seems like the most sensible option for Jihoon to just lie next to him, if a little inclined to cause some sort of incident. Some sort of diplomatic, _intergalactic_ incident.

Inviting an Alien into your bed within 24 hours of meeting them is not exactly a fantastic start to human/alien relations. Or possibly the best start—only if Seungcheol was Captain James Kirk and his life was Star Trek and his mission was to romance every alien species in existence.

The bed’s certainly big enough for two people, but _Jihoon_ in his bed is all limbs and restlessness and he takes up far too much space for such a tiny person. Enough space that it's physically impossible to get away from him. Though Jihoon seems to be under the impression that getting away from the person you're sharing a bed with is _not_ the point.

“This is my side of the bed.” Seungcheol points out, at where Jihoon’s hand has migrated across the centre of the bed to explore _his_ pillow.

He can already tell they're going to have irreconcilable differences.

“I must familiarise myself with every inch of your bed to ensure I sleep in optimum conditions.” Jihoon explains, fondling his pillow. “Now, surrender your pillow—I wish to examine it.”

Seungcheol pulls back an inch so he can get a good look at Jihoon’s face. “What? Why?”

Jihoon’s fingers curl around the edge of his pillow, tugging lightly. “I must assess it. I suspect it’s structural integrity is more sound than my current pillow. I may wish to swap.”

“Fuck _that_.” Seungcheol huffs, shoving his pillow more resolutely under his head. “This is my favourite pillow.”

“I insist you submit the superior pillow.” Jihoon says firmly. There's a glare too.

Seungcheol scowls. “Uh—how about _no_.”

Jihoon makes a face at him, pissed off and annoyed because something's not going how he wants it to. Then—he leans over and plants his head on Seungcheol’s pillow—millimetres from Seungcheol’s face.

_Un-fucking-believable._

Jihoon is incredibly spoiled, Seungcheol thinks — why did he never see that before? Jihoon is a _spoiled brat_.

Seungcheol snarls, then manhandles Jihoon, who seems just confused enough to let himself be manhandled over to his side of the bed and away from his pillow.

“Cease this discourteous behaviour at once!” Jihoon protests.

“Stop talking like you’re in some fucking Shakespearean play!” Seungcheol snaps, pinning Jihoon in place with one arm so he can drag the covers over them both. He immediately rolls on his side, facing away from Jihoon and shuts his eyes, keeping a fist curled tightly around his pillow—just in case Jihoon gets any smart _ideas_.

It's quiet for a long minute, and then the room is lit by the muted glow of Jihoon’s tricorder.

“I am attempting the primitive act of sleep to coincide with the Human’s rest period.” Jihoon talks into the recorder, like he's already rated the pillow thievery a failed experiment and moved on to something else. “I doubt I will be successful tonight, but my findings will be invaluable in the event of—"

Seungcheol reaches over, without bothering to turn around, and snatches the tricorder out of Jihoon's hand, shoves it under his pillow. Completely ignoring the irritated little huff Jihoon gives once he's denied anything to do.

"No recordings when we’re trying to sleep. It's one of my rules." Seungcheol says stiffly.

“ _Rules_?” Jihoon echoes, voice ripe with indignation.

“Yeah— _rules_.” Seungcheol says, his jaw clenched.” Laws, guidelines, instructions. Directions you must adhere to if you are to live on this station with me.”

“You never mentioned anything about this before.” Jihoon grumbles.

Seungcheol snorts. “Yeah, well—some shit goes without saying. But seeing as you’re new to the concept of co-habitation, I guess I’ll have to lay down the law.”

“Well I have some rules of my own I would like to declare.” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol blows out a frustrated breath. “You don’t _get_ to make rules.”

"Why do you get to make rules and I don't?" Jihoon complains at his back.

"My space-station—my rules.” Seungcheol tells him, and he tries for that tone that says he's right and it's not up for discussion.

Jihoon gives a huff of frustrated annoyance, like Seungcheol is being ridiculous. "Enforced clothing and no recordings during sleep—so antediluvian. Are you going to share the _rest_ of your rules with me?"

"No," Seungcheol grunts into his pillow.

"How do you expect me to abide by the rules if you don't tell me what they are?" Jihoon asks, he sounds almost amused in the darkness, which is unfair.

Seungcheol growls. He’s far more awake than he'd like to be right now and it's very hard not to smack Jihoon in the face with a pillow.

"Fine, there's now only one rule— _go to sleep."_

Jihoon scoffs. "I haven’t slept in 22995 cycles and you accept me to sleep on command? That’s hardly fair."

Seungcheol tries to do the maths of that in his head and gives up half way through. "Then close your eyes and pretend to sleep until you work out how."

Jihoon grumbles something unflattering under his breath, then goes quiet.

It's quiet for a long moment, quiet enough that Seungcheol thinks maybe he’ll finally fall asleep, but then—the fidgeting starts.

It’s an endless series of tiny shifting, twitching movements and unhappy breath noises that Seungcheol thinks he might just maybe kill Jihoon over, because he's really, really tired. He needs sleep like he needs to breathe at the minute. Needs to shut down, reboot and start again tomorrow. But he can't. Because of Jihoon.

Seungcheol’s a breath away from just rolling over and suffocating him into unconsciousness when a block of ice slips between his calves and jerks him to full alertness.

“Jesus Christ, what the—are those your _feet_?” He asks as the blocks of ice wiggle against his skin.

Then suddenly, he has no idea what to do with his arms as Jihoon squirms in and attaches himself to him from behind like some sort of lamprey eel.

“Yes.” Jihoon murmurs, sticking his cold face against Seungcheol’s shoulders and wrapping his skinny icicle arms around Seungcheol’s chest. “Your large body emits a considerable amount of heat. It’s very pleasant and I would like to share it.”

“ _What_?” Seungcheol voice doesn't crack, though it does waver a little.

“You’re the one who insisted I remove my temperature regulating attire,” Jihoon snipes defensively, his face squashed against Seungcheol’s back. Even his breath feels cool on Seungcheol’s skin, “It’s only fair that you should share your immense body heat.”

In other circumstances, Seungcheol would welcome a lithe, beautiful man into his bed, snuggling up to him. Today he just finds him inconvenient.

“Listen—pal. There’s a serious danger of lines being crossed here. I’m beginning to think your species doesn’t have concepts of personal space, but humans _do_ , and you can’t go around trampling all over them. You can’t just _spoon_ me when you feel like it. We’ve known each other for less than 24 hours." He snaps harshly, because anyone else in the world would know that without having to be told.

Anyone in the world would understand that. Or would at least understand the mind-boggling _inappropriateness_ of it.

One of Jihoon’s hands slips under his shirt to skate across his stomach, like he hasn’t been listening and he’s perfectly willing to drain heat from wherever he decides is best. “Heat sources aren't required to talk.”

It’s on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue to protest noisily about that—but he can’t ignore the way Jihoon’s body feels pressed against his back. The little shithead _is_ cold, uncomfortably, worryingly cold like some sort of tiny Alien popsicle. His arms are freezing, and there's a fine tremor running through his skin that Seungcheol can feel now, fits and starts that are barely visible.

Clearly being an advanced race doesn't equip Jihoon to survive anywhere in the Galaxy. Seungcheol’s going to be layering him in scarves and mittens and woollen under-things for the foreseeable future.

Much as he's still not entirely sure about the idea, Seungcheol really has very little choice but to share his body heat after all.

It would be rude _not_ to.

He shifts forward slightly, pushing Jihoon's arms up and out of the way, ignoring the unhappy mew Jihoon makes. It only takes a moment for Seungcheol to turn himself so he's facing Jihoon, and before Jihoon can roll away, Seungcheol has gathered him close against the length of his body, tucking arms and hands in between their chests.

Jihoon makes a pleased little sound and burrows closer. The icy feet find their way between Seungcheol’s calves again, Jihoon's cold nose tucked in close to Seungcheol's neck.

It occurs to Seungcheol, oddly slowly, and with a dreamlike sort of horror, that he's cuddling with an alien.

He's cuddling in bed with an alien.

_An alien._

His brain hangs on to that sentence, replays it over and over. Maybe it thinks it can lessen the shock through repetition. But it just rattles around in his skull like there isn't a single other thought in there.

For a long stretch neither of them talks at all. There's just one steady flare of breath after another, Jihoon’s exhales warming Seungcheol's skin and then leaving it to cool, while the vague, nagging arousal he'd done a pretty good job of stamping into submission earlier proves itself more resilient than he'd thought.

Living on a space station is a never-ending spiral of deprivation, and worst of all is the hunger for skin, for a warm body, for just a little something to remind you that you used to be a human being.

Seungcheol can feel his own heart racing in his chest, can feel his dick getting firm with interest and _knows_ Jihoon has to be able to feel it too, but he doesn't say anything.

Eventually, Seungcheol realizes the even breathing means Jihoon's _….fallen asleep._

He resists the urge to burst out laughing because he can’t believe this actually worked.

Jihoon is _asleep_ —not just pretending, not just listening to the pace of his heartbeat, or contemplating their relative temperatures or trying to steal his pillow—he's actually _genuinely_ sleeping. Seungcheol can feel the way his back shifts minutely on every breath.

After five minutes turn to twenty, it occurs to Seungcheol that his Alien guest is now perfectly warmed up and there's really no reason for them to still be spooning. He considers extricating himself carefully, but before he can move, he’s suddenly aware of an iridescent light coming from the small Alien nestled in his arms.

It starts as a soft shimmer in Jihoon’s hair, but as Seungcheol watches, it builds into a bioluminescent glow that seems to radiate from every pore.

It’s breath-taking.

It’s the most fucking beautiful thing Seungcheol's ever seen, beautiful enough that he'd admit it and not even care.

He thinks this—this _here_ is how he'd always expected an Alien to look; immutable and unfathomable and radiant, like they'd swallow a goddamn star.

Carefully, he threads his fingers through Jihoon’s hair, watching the brightness leak between his fingers, feels the faintest vibration where each strand flows like it's _alive_.

Jihoon moves in his arms, just a little—murmuring quietly in his sleep. Seungcheol knows he should move away, stop touching. He can see exactly what he's supposed to do; he should unwind his arm as carefully as he can, pull his leg out from between Jihoon's and turn over. Shift into the cold space on the other side of the bed. But he can’t; their proximity is comforting in a way he can't quite explain.

Even though Jihoon’s shining like a fucking night-light, Seungcheol now knows he isn’t a figment of his imagination.

Here in his arms, Jihoon’s alive and warm and very real.

* * *

Seungcheol wakes up again a few hours later to Jihoon patting him on the shoulder and chattering away faster than anyone has a right to be able to at 5am in the morning. He should have known Jihoon's brain could only be rendered unconscious for so long.

Seungcheol makes some sort of gurgling incoherent noise in his throat because a) he's not even close to awake, and b) Jihoon’s straddling his chest and holding what appears to be a syringe.

It’s empty, which Seungcheol’s not sure is a good or bad thing right at this moment. He doesn't think Jihoon has injected him with anything, because he's fairly sure he would have felt that, even asleep. Though the syringe like device doesn’t look like anything he had onboard the station, so maybe it’s an Alien device Seungcheol’s not _meant_ to feel?

Regardless, Jihoon doesn’t look menacing (except for the straddling and the syringe), just curious.

“What are you doing with that?” Seungcheol doesn't even bother to lift his head, he lets his voice mumble out at almost speaking volume, frustration and objection half muffled in the pillow.

He's not awake enough to be properly irritated. Also, there's a long length of bare thigh pressed up against his own and it's distracting as fuck.

"I haven't been doing anything untoward with it, I promise," Jihoon says, face all practiced innocence. “I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up, so I can obtain a sample of your blood with your consent.”

“No.” Seungcheol grunts out quickly, then quietly reconsiders. “Why?”

Jihoon’s hands slide down and cover Seungcheol's where they're resting on the bed. “I want to clone you.”

For a long second Seungcheol can't speak.

“No.” He snaps. Again, he reassesses, “Why?”

Jihoon frowns like it pains him to have to explain. “Humans have an unnerving ability to put themselves in danger. If I have a copy of you, I won’t have to worry about you _accidentally_ ejecting yourself into space.”

Seungcheol blinks at that. Because understanding it apparently helps not at all. “I _won’t_ eject myself into space.”

Jihoon's eyes are a peculiar shade of pale blue in the dark. Far too intent for this early in the morning.

“How can you be sure?” He offers, more slowly.

Seungcheol contemplates his answer carefully, as carefully as he can while half asleep. “I can’t. But you’re not allowed to clone me. Guess you’ll just have to make sure nothing happens to me instead.”

Jihoon seems to consider this. “Am I expected to follow you around and watch your every movement?”

“You seem to have been doing that anyway.” Seungcheol says, waving a hand lazily.

“May I at least fit you with a biosensor?” Jihoon asks, looking torn between responsibility and desperation. “It will alert me to fluctuations in your emotive and sensory state, allowing me to assess potential threats you face.”

Seungcheol runs his tongue over his teeth, anticipatory. “If I do—will you let me go back to sleep?”

Jihoon purses his lips, then nods. “Yes.”

“Fine. Have at it.”

No sooner has Seungcheol agreed, that he feels a sharp pain on the side of his neck.

“Ah! Fuck!” He hisses. Teeth clenched, he growls up at Jihoon. “That hurt.”

“I’m sure you’ll soldier though it.” Jihoon says, patting Seungcheol on the head with what Seungcheol considers is a little _too_ much satisfaction.

Seungcheol sits up in bed, patting around new sensitive spot on his neck. He can’t feel anything protruding from the surface of his skin, but when he glances sideways in the mirror he can see a thin, blue holographic line circling his neck. His fingers pass through it unimpeded, but as he tilts his head this way and that in the mirror—the hologram remains fixed around his neck. Like a collar.

“Did—did you just fit me with a collar? Like a _dog_?” He huffs.

Jihoon eyes run over Seungcheol's form, down and then up, to a smirk with quite an obvious intent. “I fear it would require a lot more than a collar to domesticate you as well as a dog.”

There’s something challenging in that statement, one Seungcheol feels duty bound to respond to.

He flops back onto the bed instead, ignoring the teasing glint in Jihoon’s stare. 

“Did you at least get some decent sleep?”

“Yes.” Jihoon smiles primly. He shifts back to sit more comfortably on Seungcheol’s waist, though why he just doesn’t climb off is something of a mystery. “The first phase of the weaning process was a success. I slept for 47 minutes.”

Seungcheol eyeballs him. “Just 47 minutes?”

_Fuck! What’s he been doing for the rest of the time?_

Jihoon’s nose scrunches up adorably, “That’s a great achievement Seungcheol. Considering I haven’t slept in so long, 47 minutes is remarkable. The conditions where optimal and I hope to replicate them again today, with _one_ exception.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. “What exception?”

Jihoon smiles like the answer is obvious, then finally moves to climb off his chest. 

Seungcheol watches his movements with suspicious eyes, then registers an unfamiliar lumpiness under his head.

“Hey—wait.” He lifts his head. “Where’s my favourite pillow?”

Jihoon scampers out of the room before he can answer him.


	3. Lost In Translation

**DAY: 779**

****

Living with Jihoon is both everything and nothing like Seungcheol expects.

"Living with" in the loosest sense of the word, of course. It’s not like Jihoon’s in a position to pay rent, help out with the cooking or do his share of the laundry, after all. So it’s nothing like having a regular, contributive member of the household or anything.

Perhaps the best way to put it is "temporarily sharing a living space with an individual in exchange for constant unwanted observations that sound like insults,” because that’s essentially the basis of their relationship.

Seungcheol thinks if he were back on Earth and _actually_ had options, Jihoon wouldn’t have lasted a single _day_ as his housemate, let alone the current week and counting. But right now—on day 779 of his mission, there’s no denying that Jihoon is a pleasant distraction to the monotony of Seungcheol’s life on the station.

Jihoon has to _know_ things. He has to unpick the world until he can see how it works, why it works. During the active hours on-board the station, he whisks around like a supernova of energy, equal parts genius and madness. He asks questions and examines things, runs experiments on everything from the stations life support systems to the contents of Seungcheol’s bathroom cabinet, to Seungcheol himself.

And Seungcheol, God help him, can't help but be swept up in it—In the excitement of discovery, in the weird questions, in _Jihoon._

The Alien's a contradiction of brilliance and superiority and enthusiasm. Even if he is infuriating and shockingly rude sometimes, and genuinely unhinged the rest of the time—it's impossible not to get dragged along for the ride.

Thankfully, Jihoon slips into a more sedate mood during the recreational hours, allowing himself to relax in an effort to match Seungcheol’s mood as they unwind. Well… as _sedate_ as he can manage. The same qualities that make him such a good scientist, his endless foresight and calculation, make him terrible at sitting still. But he does try and keep the invasive questioning to a minimum at least, and the emoti-sensor he's fitted around Seungcheol's neck is serving as a good indicator for when he should shut the fuck up. (Blue = Relaxed. Green = Not so much)

And when it comes time to sleep…. _well_.

Once is a necessity.

Twice is coincidence.

Three times is a habit.

Seungcheol's not sure what to think about the fact that spooning with Jihoon has become a habit. Or the fact that he's _let_ it become a habit. Because there are certain, obvious and instinctive reactions to having someone warm and beautiful sprawled haplessly over you. Reactions that he doesn't particularly want to draw attention to at the moment. 

Despite their unconventional sleeping arrangement, Seungcheol has managed to maintain a professional and co-habituative distance between them. More or less.

It’s proving to be increasing difficult though—especially when he’s living with an Alien that has no reservations about skipping onto the flight deck, pushing Seungcheol’s chair back and climbing right into his lap.

Seungcheol gives a squawk of surprise as Jihoon lands astride his thighs and stares down into his face.

“Jihoon. What the—” He begins, unable to mask his incredulity. Hell, incredulity isn't quite the word. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I am _cold_.” Jihoon announces, in a way that suggests this is somehow Seungcheol’s fault.

Seungcheol tries to look put upon, while Jihoon inflicts every cold inch of himself on Seungcheol. Until he ends up squashed against the back of the chair, with Jihoon draped over him like a cold, and not particularly comfortable, blanket.

Seungcheol turns his head to protest the wilful mistreatment, and almost gets a mouth full of Jihoon’s hair.

“Where’s that jumper I gave you to keep you warm?” He complains quietly, breath blowing at the hair tickling his nose.

“Eugh. No. It was too _itchy_.” Jihoon dismisses, sliding his hands under Seungcheol’s shirt—and fuck—he really _is_ freezing. “I do not like the way the fabric chafes against my skin. I much prefer to warm myself up in the conventional way.”

“This isn’t conventional. This is _anything_ but conventional.” Seungcheol protests as Jihoon burrows closer. And _now_ his train of thought has been derailed and he's sure he should, in some way be complaining about the way _Jihoon’s_ nuzzling into the bend of his neck, like that's something they can just do, without there being consequences, and awkwardness—and some confusing levels of arousal that probably shouldn't be there.

“Jihoon—” Seungcheol flusters, “I don’t think—"

“Heat sources are not required to talk.” Jihoon interjects huffily, before resuming his happy nuzzling.

Seungcheol grumbles something about not being furniture under his breath, then a little louder, “On my home planet, sitting on someone’s lap without permission is a breach of personal space.”

“On my home planet, it _isn’t_.” Jihoon says simply.

Seungcheol’s tempted to put his foot down here, and throw him off.

And he really should start putting his foot down more, but Jihoon sitting on his lap isn’t exactly interfering with his work at the moment. He’s just running a few scans, staring out into the blackness of space and in all honestly, he could use the company. If that company chooses to get comfortable on his lap, well….

Seungcheol can't help winding his arms around Jihoon's waist to grip the back of thighs, because he needs _somewhere_ to rest his hands. He does it with a semi-conscious alert flaring up at the back of his mind, a little message he tries not to pay attention to. It's saying something about the way Jihoon fits perfectly on his lap, like it was meant for him. The way they’re now eye to eye, perfectly matched in height seated like this. The little electric heat that thought creates travels to his groin.

Jihoon's the only real human being in this place, he tells himself. There's no one else around. Small wonder there's an instinct to touch him. Small wonder it feels good.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” Jihoon says, out of nowhere.

“Running scans.”

“What are you scanning for?”

Seungcheol rubs a hand over his face, “It’s classified.”

Jihoon lifts his chin and gives him a sour look, “I am perfectly capable of discretion.”

“It’s classified from _me_ —I mean.” Seungcheol counters. “I don’t know what the computer is searching for. I just initiate the scans and submit the recordings.”

Jihoon looks nonplussed, then a bit irritated.

“Can’t your people initiate the scans _remotely_?” He asks, which is a fair question.

Seungcheol shrugs, “Apparently not.”

“That sounds awfully tedious and a colossal waste of your time.” Jihoon says, like the observation might have passed Seungcheol by.

“Tell me about it.” Seungcheol sighs, then gives a bitter little half-laugh and rubs his face. “Not gonna lie, things were pretty boring around here till you showed up.”

Jihoon looks weirdly pleased about that. “I imagine so. It’s impressive that your brain has not disintegrated into mush from performing such menial tasks for so long.”

Seungcheol turns away to stare out the viewport, wrestling briefly with his response. “For a while I thought it was. I thought I was _losing_ it. There’s not much to anchor you to reality out here, so you need to find ways to stay focused.”

Jihoon hums thoughtfully. “And how did you manage that?”

“Reading, cooking, exercising. The Psych-ops analysts suggested I take up a hobby or two, to keep my mind sharp, so I took up sketching for the first few months. I enjoyed it, but then I injured my hand on the air lock door and had to rest it. By the time it healed, I’d lost interest. Now when I’m bored I just fire up a movie on my data pad.”

Jihoon frowns at him in confusion.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes at his ability to react to the simplest statement like it's a social minefield he has no idea how to traverse.

“What part of that sentence did you _not_ understand?”

“ _Moovviiee_.” Jihoon says. He draws the word out, like he suddenly finds it fascinating.

Seungcheol reaches for the data-pad perched on the flight console, and with Jihoon still nestled in his lap, swipes it on.

It takes a few minutes for the app to load—which is impressive considering the sheer distance the signal’s travelling from—and then the iconic red lettering on black appears on his screen.

“Welcome to the world of Netflix.” 

“ _Netflix_.” Jihoon echoes in awe.

Seungcheol watches him thumbing the bright letters on screen and barely contains a chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s uhm a subscription service, for watching tv shows and movies.” He explains, navigating to the ‘Recommendations for you’ page. “Anything take your fancy?”

Jihoon scans the titles on offer with his eyes and fingers before tentatively tapping on the screen. He recoils in shock when the opening title of _SpongeBob Squarepants_ begins to play on screen.

_[Are ya ready kids?]_

_[[Aye-aye captain]]_

_[I can’t hear you]_

_[[AYE-AYE CAPTAIN]]_

_[Oooohhhhhhhh]_

“I know what you’re thinking—” Seungcheol says, when Jihoon keeps shooting him little side-ways looks that seem to say, _this—this is what human’s find entertaining?,_ “But Spongebob is awesome. He’s very popular on Earth. Give him a chance.”

Jihoon _does_ give Spongebob a chance.

There’s a disturbed frown on his face for the first two episodes, then a perplexed expression of what might be amusement for the third. But by the fifth episode he’s singing along to the opening credits.

“SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS! SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS! SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS! SPONGEBOB SQUAREPAAAAAAAANTS!”

“I’m happy you’re enjoying—" Seungcheol stops because Jihoon’s already making, 'Shh it’s starting,' gestures with his hands. 

Seungcheol clamps his mouth shut and smirks.

The results of his scans came in almost 20 minutes ago.

It’s probably safe to move now that Jihoon’s suitably enraptured by Spongebob Squarepants and his underwater adventures, but he decides to stay put for one more episode anyway.

* * *

**DAY: 780**

When Seungcheol wakes up one morning—or what his command module deems to be morning anyway—he finds the toaster is missing.

He's given up trying to work out exactly how and when these things happen. Either the toaster will show up tomorrow heavily modified, or it won't. All he knows is—if this day ends with a great, big hole in the hull because of a laser shooting toaster he thinks he'll probably have to put his foot down.

He certainly can't—won't—flat-out _refuses_ to go through that twice in one week.

Jihoon is noticeably absent from the kitchen, although the loaf of bread, carton of milk and block of cheese sitting out on the counter all indicate he’s _somewhere_ nearby.

Recently Jihoon has taken it upon himself to research human eating habits, and will occasionally make wild stabs at important life skills like cooking. Or his attempt at cooking anyway. There’s a fair amount of burning going on, and equal amounts of charring. In fact—there’s very little actual food prep happening and a lot of food _waste_.

Seungcheol had suggested Jihoon dial it back and attempt something less complicated at first—even demonstrated for him how to make a hot chocolate and prepare a sandwich. Jihoon had enjoyed both, then declared phase 1 of the experiment a success. Now they’re onto Phase 2—which seems to consist of setting out milk, bread and cheese on the counter and expecting them to magically transform into a hot chocolate and a cheese sandwich.

There's a danger that Seungcheol contributes to this transformation far more than he probably should, since that just continues the cycle of atrociously spoilt behaviour. Jihoon gets away with enough atrociously spoilt behaviour as it is, and Seungcheol really can’t have him thinking bread actually _evolves_ into sandwiches if you leave it in on the side long enough.

So Seungcheol leaves the items out where he finds them and has a croissant instead of toast, and coffee strong enough to make his teeth feel like they're vibrating. Which he doesn't mind so much right this minute, because he has to spend the morning going over routine ship performance logs.

2356 performance log checks later and Seungcheol hears Jihoon call someone an idiot from somewhere down the corridor. Seungcheol's not entirely sure who, but there's an outside chance that it's _him_.

He's curious enough to leave his performance logs and head back to the kitchen area.

Jihoon's standing by the counter, staring down at the bread and cheese and milk with obvious disappointment. When he sees Seungcheol approach, he gestures at them. “Where is my hot chocolate and my cheese sandwiches?”

“Make your own damn hot chocolate and sandwiches for a change. You’ve lived here long enough, and god knows you’ve watched me do it enough times.”

Jihoon’s face crumples, like Seungcheol’s slapped him in the face. A moment later, he pulls out the tricorder from his pocket, and quietly mumbles, “Phase 2 of experiment has failed. Study into the enjoyment of human food has ended, unexpectedly, due to failure in human participation.” Before slinking quietly out of the kitchen.

Seungcheol roll his eyes. He has to wonder how much of his drama is carefully orchestrated and how much is natural, but the gooey, guilty feeling in his stomach has him calling out to Jihoon’s retreating back.

“Oh, for fucks sake! Come back here. I’ll make you your damn sandwich.” He says, and then feels annoyed with himself, as if he's somehow played into Jihoon's hands.

He can hear Jihoon in the corridor, recording, “Experiment reinitiated. Human participation renewed,” into his tricorder, before skipping back into the kitchen again.

“Spoiled little shit.” Seungcheol murmurs, and he doesn't particularly care whether Jihoon hears that or not.

Pulling out a chopping board and a knife, Seungcheol gets to work slicing cheese for Jihoon’s sandwich.

He’s cut a fair few slices off the block, more than enough for a sandwich—when Jihoon suddenly says, “More cheese,” in that flat, obnoxiously demanding way that's gotten him far too many things. In a way that Seungcheol really shouldn't be pandering to.

Seungcheol cuts him sharp sideways look.

“ _Please_?” Jihoon adds, dimpling sweetly.

Seungcheol shakes his head and goes back to slicing more cheese.

“Thinking of deviating from your basic cheese sandwich?” He asks as he butters the bread. “I could dice some tomatoes on this bad boy—maybe some dehydrated bacon bits. Pickle?”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “No. Just cheese.”

Seungcheol shrugs, then sets the mug of milk in the microwave to heat. “Suit yourself. If you hadn’t taken the toaster I could have introduced you to the wonders of a toasted cheese sandwich. Which reminds me, where _is_ the toaster by the way?”

"In the med-bay," Jihoon says straight away, "Though it doesn't work anymore."

Seungcheol stops assembling his sandwich to stare at him.

Jihoon’s slumped on a stool on the other side of the long kitchen island, his elbow propped on the cutting counter, his cheek propped on his hand. He looks meditative, almost dreamy….and there’s a rubber duck in his hand. Which seems like a bewildering random detail.

Seungcheol doesn't know where Jihoon got a rubber duck from, only that it materialized somewhere in the past ten minutes. He’s assuming it will be part of some future experiment.

"Why doesn't the toaster work anymore? I’m pretty sure it was working yesterday morning."

Jihoon stops studying the rubber duck and swivels all the way round. "I may have cannibalised it slightly, to make a scale model of a gamma ray detector."

"Could you cannibalise it back?" Seungcheol asks, because that seems like a sensible question.

"That _depends_ ," Jihoon says slowly.

Seungcheol pulls the mug out of the microwave when it beeps and places it on the counter before it can burn his fingers. "On what?"

"Only if you actually wanted it to toast anything."

Seungcheol nods. "That would be one of the main uses I'd be hoping to put it towards, yes."

"Then no." Jihoon doesn't sound particularly sorry about it.

Seungcheol should have seen that coming really. He finishes preparing Jihoon his hot chocolate—extra chocolatey, whipped cream, _‘no—I can’t physically add anymore mini marshmallows’_ and sets it in front of him. Then watches Jihoon’s ritual of picking off each marshmallow and eating it. And honestly, what was the _point_ of adding them if Jihoon was just going to pick them off before his first sip?

Seungcheol balls up a damp dish rag and tosses it in the sink. "Is this a habit of yours? This deconstructing household appliances for the furtherment of science. Cause I can’t help noticing a theme here—what with the miniature wind tunnel you tried to build out of the vacuum cleaner and that shit you pulled with the microwave last week."

Jihoon lifts the cup and takes a careful sip. When he puts it down, he’s smiling impishly. "You have to take advantage of every tool available to you Seungcheol, mould or fashion it into something more useful. Or else a tool that only serves one purpose will cease to exist when it outlives its purpose, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Seungcheol watches Jihoon nibble delicately on his sandwich and thinks about that for a minute.

"I'm a tool in this scenario, aren't I?" he says.

Jihoon tips his head back and forth, like he already knows the answer to that but he's trying to frame it in some way that won't get him into trouble.

Seungcheol already knows the answer's going to be yes.

* * *

**DAY: 782**

****

Seungcheol lets out a sigh as he turns the knob and the jet of water pulses down on him, plastering his hair against his forehead.

The shower's just a fraction away from too hot, a skid of water that leaves the skin of his back stinging as he squirts out some shampoo and lathers up his hair. But it's only unpleasant for a minute, then it's just the right temperature, washing away all the grease, the sweat, and soothing the ache between his shoulder blades from where lay on the hard floor too long during a repair job.

He rinses the suds from his hair, then leans his forehead on the wall, just lets the water pour down over him. It's bliss for long seconds, until….

“The human male washes daily—”

Seungcheol makes a squeaky noise of surprise and jerks his head out of the spray.

Jihoon continues, “Even if his body is sufficiently clean, which would suggest—”

“What the fuck!” Seungcheol interjects with a splutter, blinking water and soap suds from his eyes.

Jihoon’s standing just behind the glass partition, a tricorder in one hand and some kind of holographic lens covering his left eye as he speaks, “The ritual of the shower is not only for hygiene purposes, but a source of comfort too.”

Seungcheol gawks at him in shock. He wouldn’t be surprised if that lens turned out to be some advanced camera, _filming_ him shower. Jihoon’s species don’t seem to have any personal space issues at all. Or maybe it's just _Jihoon_ who flagrantly ignores everyone else's personal space.

Seungcheol can't decide how much of that's his fault. He still hasn't exactly put his foot down—on much of anything. But this would probably be a good place to start.

“You can’t just walk in here while I’m showering. And you definitely can’t record me.” He snaps, fighting the flush that threatens to overtake his face as he steps outside the shower to grab his towel and cover himself.

“I informed you I would be observing you when you least expect it.” Jihoon bites back, looking irritated at having his observation cut short.

As the subject of said research Seungcheol thinks he deserves to be a little annoyed about that. He thinks about turning around and letting Jihoon deduce things from the tense line of his back, but that really wouldn't help anything. Jihoon doesn't seem to understand subtle forms of communication like body language and sarcasm. Or he does, and he just doesn’t give a flying fuck.

“When I agreed—I didn’t know you’d be watching me shower.” Seungcheol counters, shutting the water off.

“How else am I to study your human form, or your hygiene practices if you are not showering and naked?” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol holds on tightly to that flare of irritation, “I don’t care. Get out!”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, like Seungcheol's being unnecessarily stubborn, but accepts his request and turns to leave. Not before recording a parting message on his tricorder:

“Side note. The human male sexual organ is significantly _larger_ than I anticipated. It seems intelligence is _not_ a determining factor in human virility.”

Seungcheol thinks there's a compliment in there somewhere, that he should be flattered. But there's no more space in his brain for other emotions right now—perhaps later.

* * *

**DAY: 783**

Seungcheol’s carefully not mentioning Jihoon’s presence on-board the station in his reports, because, _fuck_ —what do you say?

_Pilot’s log: In the spirit of exploration and perhaps a fit of insanity, I have allowed an Alien species to board the station. He’s called Jihoon, and he’s very small and sleeps in my bed._

Yeah. _No_ —that’s bound to raise a few alarm bells back at Central.

Seungcheol’s life used to be far less interesting, and easier to summarise.

The blinking cursor has started to look highly suspect. He stares at it for a while and tries to think of something reassuringly mundane to say. Something that none of the handful of people who actually examine this will be able to read anything into.

Maybe something about the weather?

Oh, yeah. That’s right—he’s in _space_.

"Human." Jihoon's voice cuts into Seungcheol's tangled thoughts.

Seungcheol blinks and raises his eyes from the half-finished report displayed on the screen in his hands. He finds Jihoon standing in the doorway, staring at him with a perplexed furrow bisecting his brow.

“What is it _now_ Jihoon?” Seungcheol asks impatiently.

“Are you going to explain yourself?” Jihoon says, crossing the threshold.

Seungcheol rests his data-pad on the table and gives him a confounded look. When Jihoon doesn't immediately clarify, an arched eyebrow follows. “Explain what Jihoon?”

“The meaning of this.” Jihoon says, long fingers lifting something that Seungcheol’s too far away to identify properly.

Seungcheol squints at it, “What is that? I can’t see.”

Jihoon hold up something between his thumb and forefinger, still too far away to distinguish clearly. “I almost didn’t notice it myself, what with such a cleverly compacted design. But I suppose that’s the intention after all— _discretion_. Hmm?”

Which makes _Seungcheol_ blink in confusion, because…“Uh—I don’t know what you mean.”

Jihoon gives him a look from beneath his eyebrows, surprised, amused, some strange third option that Seungcheol doesn't know him well enough to puzzle out.

“You are being deliberately obtuse Seungcheol. Are you really going to pretend like you haven’t planted this device in my room to record me, without alerting me to it first? I am disappointed you would resort to such measures. I will happily answer any questions you have, you do not need to _spy_ on me.”

Now Seungcheol’s completely lost.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He says, shoving back his seat to round his desk and get a better look.

It takes him several seconds longer than it should to realize that the device Jihoon is referring—the one he’s now holding out in the palm of his hand—is a fucking paperclip.

Unbelievable. Honestly, you couldn’t make this shit up.

“That’s a fucking paperclip Jihoon.” Seungcheol snaps.

Jihoon’s brow furrows. His eyes are a little blank, not quite tracking. “An advanced piece of human technology.”

“Oh my god, no—it’s not!” Seungcheol groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s a paperclip. Desk stationary for organizing paper. I use it to bunch pieces of paper together. And sometimes, when I’m really bored—I make paperclip chains out of a whole pile of them.”

Jihoon looks up at him, his forehead creased. “I—do not understand.”

“Look,” Seungcheol begins, returning to his desk with a sigh. Grabbing a paperclip out of the stationary tray on the desk, he shuffles together some hastily discarded notes and safeties them with the paperclip in one corner. “There— _paper-clip_.”

Comprehension smoothes Jihoon’s expression

"Oh," He says after a moment, like he's discovered something unusual, somewhere he didn't expect it. “That is fascinating. It _clips_ the paper— _together_.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, “I know, right.”

Jihoon’s now looking at him with an expression of amazement, mixed with excitement. “This is a truly fascinating find. I never expected your species to be so organized and resourceful. May I keep this paper-clip for my research?”

“Sure.” Seungcheol says, throwing his hands in the air. Because when Jihoon sounds impressed you just go with it. He can work out the details later. “In fact—you can have a whole pile.”

Moving behind his desk, he picks up the paperclip chain he’d been working on, out of sheer boredom, and clips the ends together to seal it before lowering it gently over Jihoon’s head. “When you link them together like this, you can carry them around your neck.”

The silence from Jihoon is...warmer, pleased, like maybe he thinks Seungcheol has gifted him with something unique and extraordinary. He fingers the necklace, a small blush colouring the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you Human. I will treasure this forever.”

Seungcheol eyeballs him.

There have been about five moments in Seungcheol’s adult life where he has been truly caught off guard, and three of them involved dogs in inappropriate swimwear. Jihoon getting all flustered and fawning over a paperclip necklace is not quite on that list, but it's close. 

“Yes, well—” Seungcheol scratches his hair sheepishly. “I’m just happy our species can share our technological achievements. We should do it again some time.”

* * *

**DAY: 786**

****

Every day Seungcheol checks the most important machinery around the station. Life support, gravity, water pumps, the mainframe (which is saved for last). And every week, he’ll set aside a different set of lesser machines to perform maintenance on. 

It’s almost a sure thing that half the machines will need repairs, and it’s certain that it’s a different part, each time, that needs to be fixed. But that’s okay, because this is what Seungcheol is good at. He enjoys being able to work with his hands, and if it takes a while for him to work out why a system isn't performing as it should be, then he thanks whatever higher entity there is for the challenge.

This particular night varies a bit from his usual routine, as the mainframe isn't in such good condition this evening. A section of the panel has fallen off, well beyond a retrievable distance, into the coolant, and the exposed chips and wiring have the stations alarms randomly sounding.

Eventually, ever so slowly, Seungcheol manages to clean out the exposed area, and replace the panelling, leaning precariously over a pool of liquid well below freezing. He hauls heavy machinery out, taking pieces he needs from spare machines, and struggling (with stiff fingers) to not break anything in the process. It takes six hours to fix the problem—by which point he’s covered in freezing cold sweat, and oil. His hands shake as he puts away his tools and the mainframe sinks, slowly, back into the coolant.

By the time he’s packed away all his tools, he's missed his usual dinner time by several hours and is too exhausted to even _think_ about cooking. So he wolfs down a sandwich and heads back to his sleeping quarters.

Jihoon’s already in bed, sleeping face-down in the pillow, in a way that suggests he doesn't breathe like normal people, no matter what he says. He’s also situated firmly on _Seungcheol’s_ side, on _Seungcheol’s_ favourite pillow.

Seungcheol should shove him off and reclaim what’s his, but his own exhaustion is potent beneath his skin, so he leaves Jihoon where he is while he prepares for sleep himself with military efficiency. A quick shower, a change of clothes, a quiet command to deactivate the overhead lights, before he eases into bed, head falling hard atop the cool pillow.

The petite alien seems restless against his side, whole body thrumming with light and energy. He makes a noise like he's disapproving of something in his sleep, and Seungcheol makes a vaguely soothing noise into his hair until he goes quiet again.

Seungcheol rolls onto his back, sits staring at the stars through the viewport until his eyelids drop and a rolling fog of dreamlessness blankets his mind and pushes the world away.

He wakes later to the same imperfect darkness.

His internal time sense, reliable even in the timelessness of space, tells him it's been nearly two hours since he nodded off, and he wonders what woke him. He’s still exhausted. His head throbs dully with a half-formed headache and all he wants is to slip back into sleep. But his senses are on high alert: his skin feels tight and sensitive and the hairs at the back of his neck want to stand up.

Something is wrong, but he can’t quite pinpoint what it is. 

He scans the room for anything suspicious, but everything seems as it should be. There are no emergency lights or warning bells heralding doom, just the quiet hum of well-cared for machinery whirring sweetly beyond the walls of their quarters.

Seungcheol is about to roll over and let it lull him back to sleep when he spots it. 

Jihoon is sitting up next to him in the bed, all messy bed hair, and soft pouty lips. And he’s _glowing_. Not in his usual soft, golden hue, but in a bright, fiery red.

Seungcheol is awake immediately, sitting up and rubbing his eyelids. 

“Woah—what the hell--” He blurts, then holds perfectly still when he locks eyes with a very angry looking Jihoon. “What—what’s _wrong_?”

“How could you!” Jihoon growls furiously, but there is hurt in his expression, and a whirlwind of questions flashing in his eyes.

Seungcheol blinks at him, baffled. “How could I what?”

Jihoon shoots him a look of disdain, the red glow of his skin pulsing outwards.

“How could you treat me in such a way? What did I do to receive such hateful acts?”

There is so much pleading in the question that Seungcheol’s throat goes tight. His skin is too hot, his mouth dry. His burgeoning headache is gone, replaced with adrenaline and the frantic staccato of his racing heartbeat in his temples.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Jihoon. I was just sleeping—so were you. Anything else is news to me.” He says, with a sort of jittery uncertainty.

Jihoon’s really angry now, his mouth is pinched white and his eyebrows are drawn down sharply. The red glow has completely abated, and Seungcheol’s not sure if that’s because Jihoon’s got himself under control, or because all hell’s about to break loose. 

“How can you deny it?” Jihoon says, voice as serious as Seungcheol’s ever heard it. “I was there—I saw you with my own eyes. You broke my tricorder!”

“What?” Seungcheol chokes. He coughs to clear his throat, then adds, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” Jihoon insists, displeasure sharpening his voice. “You took it from me and yelled. You crushed it under your boot and laughed maniacally at my suffering.”

Seungcheol gawks. His mind racing as he immediately tries to remember when the bloody fuck this had happened.

He wonders for a very long minute whether he's still asleep.

Eventually he decides that he's not.

Jihoon sounds too earnest to be lying, which leaves him scratching his head in honest and heartfelt bewilderment, because he thinks he would remember if he did something like that.

“Jihoon, I didn’t break your tricorder. I mean— _yeah_ , I’ve thought about hiding it from you, but I’d never break it. I know how important it is to you.” He says, trying to keep his voice low and reasonable.

Jihoon’s expression is watchful and heavy now. He presses his lips together with a tight little shake of his head. “How can you deny it when I saw you. I saw you crush my tricorder and laugh, then you carved open my chest and remove my internal organs for analysis!”

“Woah, woah, woah—” Seungcheol raises his hands in the air. “Hold on a fucking second!”

“You dare invite me to stay, then you commit these atrocities?” Jihoon talks over his protests, scooting farther away without taking his eyes off Seungcheol, “I have misjudged you Human. I believed you to be kind, but you are indeed monstrous.”

Something occurs to Seungcheol then, something so fucking ridiculous he has to laugh. He can’t help that it comes out a little hysterically, which is unsettling enough that Jihoon tries to make a run for it.

He flips off the bed and starts for the door. Seungcheol grabs him before he gets three steps, keeping his head back so he doesn’t get clocked, but Jihoon’s not a fighter—he doesn’t go beserk like Seungcheol half expects. He twists to shove Seungcheol away, but doesn’t follow up with a punch.

Seungcheol manages to grip him by the wrists and pin him to the mattress—which, in hindsight—is a stupid thing to do to someone you’re trying to calm down.

A look like panic widens Jihoon's eyes. His pulse is too fast by half. Something furious and raw keens in Seungcheol’s chest, but he ignores it, wills his voice calm. “Jihoon— _relax._ I’m not going to hurt you. I think you might have been dreaming _._ ”

“Release me. Release me you monster!” Jihoon hisses, struggling futilely in his grip.

There is wounded disappointment written across his far too expressive face, and Seungcheol curses internally. How is it this ridiculous boy can make him feel _guilty_ for hurting him in a fucking dream. A fucking dream for fucks sake. What business does he have making Seungcheol reel with remorse for an imagined atrocity?

"Jihoon," Seungcheol stops, draws in a breath, and then lets it go. "Use your brain, think about what you’re _saying_."

"Get off," Jihoon growls, "Let me go, Human, let me--"

"It wasn’t _real_ Jihoon. You imagined it all in your sleep," Seungcheol murmurs—calm, calm. "If I really did what you say I did, how come you’re here, yelling at me right now, hmm?"

"Because I was--" Jihoon begins furiously. "I--I was--"

He pauses, looking a little uncertain. Then he blinks, and blinks again. Seungcheol breathes a sigh of relief when Jihoon blinks for a third time and awareness comes back into his gaze.

"I—I was sleeping?" He says, relaxing slowly, almost unwilling.

“That’s right.” Seungcheol smiles warmly. “You were sleeping, and you had a dream that I hurt you. It was just a bad dream. A _nightmare_. It’s not real.”

Jihoon considers that in silence for several seconds. This time when he speaks, it's in a quieter tone. Sombre and strangely gentle. “It—it wasn’t real?”

Seungcheol nods and releases his wrists. “That’s right, you were just dreaming. Look—” He says, reaching over to the bedside table his to grab Jihoon’s tricorder.

“My tricorder,” Jihoon says dazedly, sitting up. Then: “It’s not broken anymore.”

“It was _never_ broken. You just _dreamt_ that I broke it.” Seungcheol explains.

“I……dreamt?” Jihoon says quietly, one hand rising absently to his temple and rubbing. There's something soft and surprised there. Like it's a completely foreign concept.

Seungcheol racks his brain for the simplest answer he can offer. All he can do is parse his words down into small bit-sized pieces so that the Alien can understand. “When we sleep, sometimes out brains remain active and create false, improbable situations that feel real at the time. But they’re not. They’re just dreams. _This_ is reality. Here—now. In reality I would never break your tricorder on purpose. And I would never, ever hurt you.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he looks intrigued, “I have _heard_ of this dream concept, but I have never experienced it before.”

“Probably because you didn’t sleep before. Dreams are more vivid when you sleep.” Seungcheol explains.

Jihoon chews on that, looking more relaxed with every passing moment. He’s trying to think it through. Seungcheol sits and watches him do it, watches him slide a hand down his chest, rubbing an imaginary ache over his sternum. His voice holds unfamiliar vulnerability when he asks, “So you did _not_ carve my body?”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow at him. “Does your body look carved? Does it _feel_ like I carved your organs out?”

Jihoon is silent for several seconds before offering a grudging answer, “No. But it _did_. It felt very real.”

Seungcheol raises his hand—hesitates a moment—and finally reaches across the short space to close his fingers around Jihoon's wrist. Warm reassurance. “But it _wasn’t_ , okay. It _wasn’t_. Just your overactive brain playing tricks on you.”

Jihoon’s jaw works for a second, and then he nods stiffly. He scrubs a hand across his face and says, " _Sorry_ ," like he means it, and that's so unusual—to hear Jihoon apologizing—that Seungcheol is almost blindsided.

“It’s uh—alright. It’s not your fault.” Seungcheol murmurs. After a minute he says, “Just—lets go back to sleep, yeah?”

The furrow in Jihoon’s brow deepens. He shakes his head. “No, I cannot sleep again. I do not wish to repeat the dream.”

Seungcheol suppresses the urge to sigh.

Slowly, he breaches the careful distance they've been maintaining, putting his arm around Jihoon's shoulders. Jihoon twitches a little under the touch but doesn't shake Seungcheol off, and they're quiet for a long minute.

“You can’t stop sleeping because you’re afraid of dreaming Jihoon. Dreams can’t hurt you.” He says, calmly and firmly.

“But—"

“I know it felt real,” Seungcheol interjects gently. “Dreams can feel super real. I’ve had my fair share of shitty awful ones, and I know how bad they can be. But dreams can be nice too, you know. You just had a bad dream, a nightmare. But some dreams are so nice you never want to wake up from them.”

Jihoon doesn’t look convinced, but he lets his head rest against Seungcheol’s shoulder, “How do I have a nice dream?”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “You can’t really control what you dream about. Dreams just happen. I’m sure there’s a lot of interesting science behind it all, but I can’t explain it. The important thing is—they’re not real. When you wake up, they vanish.”

Jihoon’s expression is difficult to make out from this angle, but he nods and Seungcheol feels the gesture against his shoulder.

“C’mon.” Seungcheol urges, easing back against the bed.

It's a relief when Jihoon lies back against the pillows next to him and closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long to get him settled, to get his narrow body slotted up against Seungcheol’s own. It’s an oddly comfortable position, Seungcheol thinks; Jihoon’s thigh over his, hips tilted just so, and his head pillowed on Seungcheol’s shoulder, ear close enough to kiss.

Seungcheol can feel the bump of Jihoon’s pulse in some big vein on the underside of his upper arm, the way it eases from an insistent thrum to a more steady thump-thump.

The lay in silence for a few minutes, then Seungcheol slides his hand to Jihoon’s nape to play with his hair. The white, almost translucent strands curl over Seungcheol’s fingers, ridiculously soft, the softest substance in Seungcheol’s world.

“I would never hurt you Jihoon. Ever.” He says, soft steel in every word. “Remember that.”

Jihoon nods and exhales slowly, then turns his head to burrow his face into Seungcheol’s neck. Silence and stillness settle in again, until finally Jihoon says in a smaller voice, “I should not have called you monstrous. I jumped to unjust conclusions.”

Seungcheol swallows, tilting his head so his cheek is resting against the top of Jihoon's head. “It’s okay baby.”

“I am _not_ a baby.” Jihoon huffs, though this time he sounds sleepy. Like he's already drifting off in the warm security of Seungcheol's arms.

“Actually, you kind of are.” Seungcheol says, dipping his head and kissing Jihoon’s ear.

Jihoon’s retort is lost in laboured breathing, his head curling to rest against Seungcheol’s shoulder.

When Seungcheol looks over next, Jihoon’s eyes are closed and his lips are parted. He’s fallen asleep again, just like that, snoring quietly in a way Seungcheol can't help but find anything other than ridiculously adorable.

Seungcheol watches him sleep for a while, then leans over to grab his favourite pillow—since Jihoon’s not using it.

The second he sets his hand on it, Jihoon’s eyelids flutter open halfway. “Mine.”

“Motherfucker,” Seungcheol grumbles under his breath. 

Jihoon smiles, and closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.

In the morning Seungcheol wakes Jihoon's elbow in his kidney through the fifteen layers of blanket Jihoon has managed to burrito himself in, leaving Seungcheol with only a corner of blanket covering one foot.

 _Well, at least one of us got a decent nights sleep_ —Seungcheol thinks to himself as he begins his day.

* * *

**DAY: 787**

****

Yellow, green— _red_. And now there’s a blue wire too.

There are two more colours here than Seungcheol was expecting. According to the O2 filter’s schematics, there should only be a green and red wire to contend with. Not two extra wires with no obvious designation.

But it’s okay. Seungcheol’s got this.

He’s a master of improvisation when it comes to ship maintenance, used to cobbling together a bunch of spare parts and making things right. And if he fucks it up, so what? He’ll just have irreparably damaged the oxygen filter on a billion-dollar space station and probably die of asphyxiation. No huge loss.

“Human?” Jihoon’s voice cuts across Seungcheol's awareness, low and light with humour.

"Yeah, what?" Seungcheol manages to keep his tone light, despite the heavy turn of his thoughts.

"You've been staring blankly in the same place for some time," Jihoon says, materializing at his side as though from thin air, "Is everything in order?"

Seungcheol blinks. Swallows. Does his best to sound sincere and smooth when he answers, "Of course. Just trying to untangle a logistical problem."

Jihoon rests a hand on his shoulder, in a way Seungcheol thinks is supposed to be reassuring.

"Do you require assistance?"

"Nah," Seungcheol answers, a little too quickly. He can feel the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck. "I think I figured it out."

It's a lie. He hasn't figured out _shit_. But the deflection does the trick, averting Jihoon's attention and leaving Seungcheol in relative peace. Leaving him to his spiralling thoughts and the hopelessness of two _extra fucking wires._

He unclips the damaged yellow wire and unscrews the charred circuit board underneath, then replaces it with one he’s salvaged from a previous repair job. It doesn’t quite fit into the empty slot, but as long as he reattaches the wires correctly, he should be able to reboot the filter. He takes hold of a stray red wire—intent or fitting it _somewhere_ , then reaches a strange hole in his memory and stares down at the complicated mess he'd made of the system with a mixture of frustration and annoyance.

“You are doing it wrong.” Jihoon offers quietly, from somewhere behind his left shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Seungcheol grunts.

He appreciates having company when he’s juggling their lives in his hands, but his patience is also wearing thin. Jihoon's voice, bright and energetic, primes his senses in ways he is not equipped to deal with tonight.

“I suppose wrong is not the correct word. What I meant to say was, you are doing it in an unnecessarily complicated fashion. The solution is more simple than what you are currently attempting.” Jihoon provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Listen, Jihoon,” Seungcheol does his best to resolutely _not_ look up from his work. “—the super smart thing, it’s cute. But I’ve been doing this job for years and I fucking know how to do it. I don’t need you waltzing in here and telling me I could do it better.”

They've played this game at least a dozen times today already and it's tiring. Just because the guy’s a genius doesn't mean he knows more about fixing the O2 filters than everyone else in the universe.

“You’ve re-arranged the wires incorrectly.” Jihoon keeps going, watching him lay waste to the access panel.

And, okay, maybe Jihoon has a point there. It’s the first time Seungcheol’s every had to repair the O2 filters and there’s a dozen more wires in two extra colours than the manual suggests there should be. The schematics clearly haven’t been updated since the station was last upgraded, but it’s not the first time he’s had to improvise. He's definitely not going to let on that he's been thinking it's not quite right since the minute he pulled off that yellow wire by accident when he was trying to reach down to get at the loose bolt. He's sure he put it back in the right place, though.

Mostly sure.

"If you're gonna stand there yapping, maybe you could get down here and hold this flashlight – make yourself useful for a change."

Jihoon drops down on one knee beside him a moment later. All smiles and enthusiasm. Ready to save the world at a moment's notice, and takes the flashlight, slipping in easy behind him to shine it over his shoulder.

“Hold it a little higher.” Seungcheol orders, holding his pliers between his teeth while he snips the frayed edge of the wire.

“Like this?” Jihoon asks, shining the light into his eyes and momentarily blinding him.

Seungcheol sighs deeply. “No, not on _me_ , on that. Why would I need the light on my face?”

He hasn't even touched the instrument panel again when Jihoon says, "You should take out that bolt."

"No, that bolt is part of what holds this whole mess together."

"The bolt serves no function. I suspect it was important before the model was upgraded, and nobody thought to remove it once it became obsolete. It’s only hindering your repair now. If you remove it, then you can put this here," he points at one of the yellow wires and then to the empty space left by the faulty one that Seungcheol removed. "And it'll all work again. Good as new."

Seungcheol's pretty sure it's not going to actually work – Jihoon might have been a real genius on his home planet, but he's a bonafide rookie when it comes to human technology. Book smarts don't really count for a thing out in the black of space anyhow; but Seungcheol tries it anyway, thinking the whole thing will fall apart under his hands and he’ll be back at square one...

But when he re-boots the system, the oxygen pump roars to life, without even its usual second of hesitation after a system restart. Then there is an echoing thud around the ship, as the oxygen filtration system comes back online.

Seungcheol looks over at Jihoon, all kinds of shocked and more than a little bit sore that the petite alien who looks barely legal and near-to-never gets his hands the tiniest bit dirty can put an oxygen pump back together almost faster than he can blink.

Jihoon looks up at him and smiles, smugger than a rooster in a house full of easy hens. “You are welcome.”

Seungcheol glares at him as he stands up and brushes dirt off of his knees. “You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

* * *

**DAY: 788**

The problem with being locked in an enclosed space, Seungcheol thinks, is that no matter how much you like the people you're locked in with, you end up hating them _just_ a little.

His piloting shift is over for the night and it's been an exhausting day and he wants nothing more than a stupidly long nap, but that's not going to happen. Not now, maybe not ever.

Okay, that probably sounds a bit dramatic—but it’s Jihoon’s fault for having a shower and then leaving his damp towels all over the bed, like what? They’re going to hang _themselves_ up to dry?

Now the bedsheets are damp, and the mattress is damp and Seungcheol’s favourite pillow is damp—and Jihoon’s nowhere to be seen of course—so Seungcheol can’t even glare at him about it while he strips the bed and tips the mattress against the wall.

You can get used to anything given the right motivation, the right conditioning, but there are some things that you cannot endure. For Seungcheol’s it’s always been laziness.

He’s a military man, has his bed made every morning as if he used a ruler when making it: pillows neatly stacked, blankets pulled taut and excess tucked under the mattress, sheets as smooth as he can get them without breaking out an iron.

Jihoon, in comparison, is some kind of Hobo Alien. He’s several shades of lazy that Seungcheol struggles to ignore.

Sure, he’s pro-active when it comes to his research and ‘experiments’ and can wax lyrical all day about his superior smarts, but ask him to re-fill the toilet roll holder or take his empty mug back to the sink and suddenly it’s like a minefield of complexity that has to be navigated by sheer avoidance.

Seungcheol can't help but think that Jihoon is perfectly aware that he’s pissing him off with his sloppy attitude. He finds himself curious whether Jihoon's fiercely intent on being himself anyway, or if he simply doesn’t know how to be anything else.

Maybe he had an Alien Butler at home and cleaning up after himself is beneath him? Or maybe he genuinely expects his empty mug of cocoa to disintegrate into thin after when he’s finished with it. 

Who the fuck knows.

Either way—damp towels on the bed are the final straw.

* * *

After searching all the usual Jihoon hide-outs; the med-bay, the kitchen, the 'research hub' Jihoon made for himself behind the couch which looks suspiciously like a blanket fort, Seungcheol eventually finds him in the greenhouse, underneath the cherry blossom tree.

Seungcheol’s not exactly sure _what_ Jihoon’s doing, but as he approaches, he can see Jihoon has his palm resting on the trunk, and he’s murmuring something in a quiet voice which Seungcheol doesn't have a hope of translating.

Most of the plants in the garden were carefully selected by Central’s Habitation Team either for their ability to convert CO2 into oxygen or to produce nutritious food. With a limit on space, the vegetation chosen must follow a specific set of rules: No trees, no climbing vines, nothing with hard roots that go deeper than one meter and nothing that takes a long time to grow.

The tree seems to be the only exception, seeing as it swallows up more space than anything else in the garden, needs its own damn water supply and contributes nothing but flowery detritus a few months in the year.

Seungcheol suspects its addition was merely _aesthetical_ —that some psych-ops analyst suggested it’s presence would minimize the psychological impact of extended space travel, or that a reminder of home would be _soothing_ to the occupants on-board the station or something.

An elaborate magic trick is what it is. A trick to keep the mind from contemplating the larger picture, from looking out the window and seeing the depth and breadth of space, of the artificial recreation of the world that he is floating in. The slivers of metal and plastic keeping him from the shattering chill of space.

Seungcheol can’t imagine there being a good enough reason, psychological or otherwise, to plant a tree on-board a space station where it will never feel or see the sun’s warmth. Nevertheless, he’s happy it’s there. He loves how the cherries smell in spring, when the pink blossoms are full and open, and for a long time that tree was the only thing keeping him company. It’s probably why he’s a little on edge that Jihoon’s _toying_ with it.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol asks, approaching him cautiously.

Jihoon’s stops murmuring abruptly and turns his head. “Isn’t that obvious? I’m conversing with this lifeform.”

“But….that’s a tree.” Seungcheol points out, dumbfounded.

Jihoon raises an enquiring brow. “So?”

“So, trees don’t talk.” Seungcheol says slowly, because sometimes, advanced alien species or not, it pays to remind Jihoon of the obvious.

“All living things communicate Seungcheol,” Jihoon corrects, in that special way he has that suggests he loses IQ points merely by breathing the same air as Seungcheol. “Perhaps not in a language you understand, but _I_ am capable of communicating with it. We’re having a very interesting discussion actually—about _you_.”

Seungcheol looks at the tree contemplatively.

It hadn't occurred to him that Jihoon might be capable of talking to trees. It’s not…implausible per se; Jihoon’s an Alien who floats in space without a suit and glows when he’s sleeping, and talking to plants, well….

It’s perfectly conceivable considering. 

“Okay then, what’s it saying?” He asks at last, watching petals drift to the lawn.

“At the moment—nothing I think you’d want to know. It’s current opinion of you is not very flattering.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “What? _Why_? I thought me and Mr tree got along well. I used to come down here every day and read under it.”

There’s almost a surprised, confused sort of fondness to Jihoon’s expression.

“I think _that_ is where the animosity originated.” Jihoon explains.

Seungcheol opens his mouth, but Jihoon holds up a finger to ask for a second. He turns to the tree and starts to glow softly once more, he murmurs something under his breath and then nods a few times before turning back to Seungcheol.

“The tree is upset that you no longer visit. It’s disappointed you were only using it until something more interesting came along to spend your time with.”

Seungcheol laughs, because what else can he do.

“I guess that’s kind of true—” Thoughtful, he scratches his stubbled cheek. “I _have_ been spending less time down here. But that’s mostly your fault. I’m so busy keeping you company and making sure you don’t destroy the station, I haven’t had time to visit.”

Jihoon frowns at him sideways, “The tree doesn’t appreciate you passing the blame.”

“Alright, alright. I’m—I’m sorry tree. I didn’t mean to hurt your….” Seungcheol flounders for a way to phrase it that won't sound stupid, but ultimately accepts that it will because he’s talking to a tree. “…. _feelings_.”

“The tree wants you to embrace it.” Jihoon provides, like it's a life or death situation.

Seungcheol side-eyes him. “Uhm. _What_?”

“Embrace the tree!”

“Alright—alright. Shit, uhm—.” Seungcheol hesitates, then steps forward to wrap his arms awkwardly around the tree trunk. He feels positively Vegan all of a sudden. “What’s the tree saying now? Are we good?”

Jihoon fails to answer.

When Seungcheol cranes his neck to look at him, he finds the alien watching him with a slight, strange smile on his lips, so out of place with the circumstances.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Jihoon tsks, his expression turning opaque once more. “I just find it amusing how easily your species are fooled into believing things. That certainly explains your fanciful notions regarding religion.”

“Wait a minute—” Seungcheol snaps, then jerks backwards because he realises he’s still hugging the fucking tree. He brushes off the cherry blossom petals clinging to his T-shirt and narrows his eyes at Jihoon. “So you _weren’t_ communicating with the tree?”

Jihoon makes a noise in his throat that's amused and ever so slightly patronising at the same time.

“No, I wasn’t. I was conducting a simple behavioural experiment, into human gullibility. Contrary to my expectations, you failed. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, the human mind is so inferior I imagine you’d believe this rock was sentient of I told you so.”

A spark of annoyance flickers in Seungcheol.

“Hey—you can’t make generalisations about my intelligence based on a lie you told me. Of course, I’m going to believe you if you tell me you can talk to trees. You’re an advanced Alien capable of things I could only _imagine_.”

Jihoon levels him an assessing look, “Hmm, but the speed at which you accepted the falsehood is most concerning. You didn’t even _attempt_ to use logic to dismiss my suggestion.”

“You’re an _Alien."_ Seungcheol intones, _"_ Any logic I would normally apply to situations flew right out the window the minute I saw you floating outside the station without a suit.”

That seems to give Jihoon pause, and he tilts his head just slightly to the side. “So, it is _my_ fault you failed to use logic? Are you saying that because I am capable of things beyond your comprehension you will cease to think rationally and assume anything is possible?”

“Well— _yeah_.” Seungcheol huffs.

“Classic Human.” Jihoon scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m amazed your species hasn’t wiped itself out of existence with such idiocy. I suspect your large biceps are the reason you are still alive.”

Seungcheol feels the sharp, low burn of anger in his gut. He feels his face tense uncontrollably, his fingers digging into the palm of his hand until he starts to lose sensation in them. He isn't sure why Jihoon’s estimation of his intelligence bothers him, but it does. Especially when Jihoon says it so _frankly_ , as if that’s all he sees when he looks at Seungcheol—an inferior species—an idiot.

The laughter vanishes from Jihoon's expression then. The Alien reaches up to trail his fingers over the holographic collar glowing _red_ around Seungcheol’s neck, seems unhappy with whatever he finds.

“You’re emoti-sensor is emitting an unexpected hue. Am I to understand you do not approve of my experiment?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer him. He just turns on his heel and leaves Jihoon there talking to himself.

A quiet, "Human? Where are you going?" floats out after him. 

* * *

Turns out Seungcheol can’t even _sulk_ in peace.

Jihoon’s so far up his own ass he doesn’t seem to understand that Seungcheol’s giving him the cold shoulder. Instead of doing the sensible thing, and letting Seungcheol get over his anger in solitude, he’s poking him in the arm or jostling his elbow at regular intervals, following at his heels like a puppy and pressing so close to him in the rec room he's practically in his lap.

“Human?” Jihoon says, for the hundredth time, lurking at the end of the couch. “ _Human_?”

Seungcheol flips a page in his book and goes right on ignoring him, pointedly and obviously. He can wait him out. It’s already been an hour. If he gives Jihoon enough time, surely he'll reach whatever conclusion is lingering just out of reach. _Surely_ it’ll come to him eventually.

“You are not responding to me. Why won’t you respond?” Jihoon asks, slinking into the empty space next to Seungcheol on the couch.

He looks worried, but not the guilty sort of worried he should be looking.

Seungcheol turns another page in his book and says nothing. He’s angry, and he wants Jihoon to know. Judging by the way Jihoon’s shifting on his knees and shining his tricorder into Seungcheol’s ear—he’s not getting the point across.

“Have you damaged your hearing?” Jihoon asks. “I can heal you.”

Seungcheol jerks his head away when Jihoon does something that makes the tricorder start to hum quietly. “No, there’s nothing wrong with me hearing. I’m _ignoring_ you.”

Jihoon gives him the helplessly confused face, “Why?”

“Because I don’t appreciate being insulted Jihoon.” Seungcheol growls. His jaw is kind of clenching of its own accord.

Jihoon pulls a face, it's mostly hair and pout. It's one Seungcheol hasn't seen before. “I didn’t insult you.”

“Yes, you did. You were implying, very obviously, that I’m stupid.” Seungcheol says firmly.

“I wasn’t _implying_ it—I was stating it, as a _fact_. You _are_ stupid.” Jihoon reminds him, and not for the first time. “Compared to me, your entire _species_ is stupid. Don’t take it personally.”

Seungcheol stares at him, outraged. His guest is about two smart-ass words away from getting a serious dressing down, or possibly a spanking.

“How can I _not_ take that personally?” he says slowly, because he thinks he's just gotten a glimpse of the sharp and insane alien clarity that is Jihoon's thought processes.

Jihoon shrugs, nonchalant. “By accepting it as the factual observation it is. You are stupid— _fact_.”

“This,” Seungcheol lifts a finger. “ _This_ is why I’m ignoring you. If you pulled this shit back on Earth, someone else would have whooped your ass.”

"That seems like an unnecessarily dramatic response," Jihoon drawls.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. "You realise you live in the very largest glass house there. How can you say that when you’re the supreme _ruler_ of unnecessary drama Jihoon. Or did you forget about catching your finger in the door yesterday and whining about it for _three fucking_ _hours_?”

“No, I did not forget.” Jihoon pouts, rubbing said finger. “My finger still hurts actually—” He murmurs, then hold it up to Seungcheol’s face. “Can you kiss it better again?”

“No.” Seungcheol growls.

“Fine.” Jihoon huffs, crossing his arms. “If it makes you feel better, I will apologize for stating the fact. I am sorry you are stupid Human.”

Seungcheol’s not just angry now, he’s livid.

He wasn't expecting an apology, he’s not sure what he was expecting to be honest, but this is _bullshit_.

“You know what Jihoon,” He seethes, clapping his hands down on his thighs. He stands from his seat and slams his book down on the table. “Up yours. Up wherever your species traditionally crams things.” He snarls, then stalks out of the room without a backwards glance.

* * *

Seungcheol’s still angry three hours later, holed up in the gym.

He’s not working out his frustration with exercise or anything, but there’s a couch in the corner to sit on and an interesting view of the bisecting upper decks, and he knows it’s the one place on the station Jihoon hesitates to venture. The Alien says it’s because it’s the coldest area of the station, but Seungcheol likes to think he’s intimated by the array of machines on display.

Physical prowess is perhaps the only arena his species does _not_ excel at. 

With not much to do, Seungcheol digs around until he finds a pack of cards. He sits on the leather couch, laying out solitaire games and playing them through.

It takes more than a dew attempts for him to finish a hand all the way through, no cheating.

"Seungcheol."

At the sound of his _actual_ name, said in a very small voice, Seungcheol turns to find Jihoon standing in the doorway, holding a plate of nicely browned toast. It’s been sliced too, into neat little triangles and buttered exactly to Seungcheol’s liking.

For a brief moment, Seungcheol’s certain Jihoon has just come to boast about his accomplished toast making skills, until Jihoon closes the distances between them and hands him the plate. 

“What’s this?” Seungcheol’s aware that he sounds surprised.

Jihoon just stares at him with huge, serious eyes and says, “Toast.”

Seungcheol snorts, some of his foul mood evaporating. “I know what it _is_ —but why are you giving it to me?”

Jihoon shifts from foot to foot. His movements stilted; awkward. “I made it for you, because you are angry with me.” He whispers without looking at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol doesn't laugh, though it's a close thing. There's a noise buried somewhere in his throat that threatens to burst free at the idea of Jihoon trying to win his friendship with toast. But he holds it long enough to pick up a piece—which is still warm, and that should be impossible given the annoying powers of toast to go cold the moment you look away from it.

“And you thought the toast was going to make me _less_ angry?”

Jihoon shakes his head, then lifts one shoulder in a gesture that Seungcheol would call self-conscious in anyone else.

“My research into human feeding habits indicated that toast ranks highly as a comfort food for humans. Humans in deep emotional turmoil will consume several slices in one sitting, often lathering each slice with inadvisable quantities of butter. There is a soporific effect achieved, that lightens their mood considerably. There were other foods in my research that ranked higher, but I do not yet possess the skill to assemble them. I was hoping the toast would suffice on this occasion.” Jihoon says, tone vaguely hopeful.

He fidgets some more, before finally making eye contact with Seungcheol. “Is it working?”

Seungcheol eyes the toast for a fraction of a second, and then shrugs and stuffs it in his mouth.

“I guess I’m feeling a little better,” He says begrudgingly, chewing. “But I _was_ hungry—and making me toast doesn’t excuse you for insulting me before.”

“I didn’t insult—”

“Yeah, you did Jihoon.” Seungcheol smoothly disagrees, biting into his second slice. “And not only is it rude, it’s not fair. Yeah, you’re smarter than me—I’m not arguing that fact. But there’s just some stuff you don’t do to people. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to embarrass and demean you since you’ve arrived here. I could have had you brushing your teeth with the toilet brush and wearing a thong on your head and laughed my ass off about your naiveté in secret. But I didn’t take advantage of you like that—and I would have expected the same curtesy back.”

There's a long, stilted silence while Jihoon opens and closes his mouth, repeatedly, like he's trying to find the right thing to say and failing at it. It makes him look a little like a fish.

“I—I didn’t see it that way.”

Seungcheol inclines his head, “Of course you didn’t, cause all you care about is the _science_ , not my feelings.”

Jihoon looks genuinely stricken, “I care about your feelings!” He blurts out. “It is why I fitted you with the emoti-sensor. It is why I made you toast. I wanted to make you _feel_ better.”

“Gonna need more than toast to make me feel better.” Seungcheol tells him around a mouthful of toast.

For a few seconds Jihoon's blank, deflated—then he sharpens.

“If my attempts are not sufficient, I am prepared to do _other_ things to elevate your mood.”

The words are stiff and formal—nearly identical to Jihoon's usual tone and word choice, but for some reason it sounds different this time. There's a vague sense of suggestion clinging to the statement.

Seungcheol arches one eyebrow, “What other things?”

“I can do things for you…..I can perform… _Favours_.”

There's a soft, dizzy uncertainty in Jihoon’s voice, like he wishes he had a better word. Seungcheol's kind of stunned by the one he _did_ pick.

Some mischievous instinct makes him ask, “What kind of favours are we talking about here? That’s a pretty broad term that could encompass a million different things.”

Jihoon shrugs, “Whatever you want, I will happily comply with all your desires.”

Seungcheol’s very glad to have swallowed his toast, or else he would have been choking on it. 

For a moment there's a glint of indecipherable intent in Jihoon’s eyes. Something bright and sharp, fierce in a way that knocks conflicting impulses loose in Seungcheol's chest. Part of him wants to push, to find out what that look means. Another, smarter part of him shies instinctively away from his own curiosity.

Jihoon is young, Seungcheol remembers. Not a kid, but still. Young. There are some things he shouldn’t ask for, and even if he could, tonight’s not the time to try to figure out what’s going on behind Jihoon’s eyes. Seungcheol’s got his hypothesis, but there are too many variables, and he has no desire to have this—whatever’s going on between them—blow up in his face.

“So?” Jihoon continues, the shadow of his eyelashes dipping over his cheekbones. “Is there something you would like me to do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol tells him, taking another bite of his toast. “Make me another round of toast and we’ll call it even.”

Jihoon blinks at him quietly for a moment, like Seungcheol’s surprised him, then he grins at him so hard it’s a wonder he doesn't split in two.

* * *

**DAY: 790**

****

Seungcheol’s already tenuous sleep patterns are thrown off a few days later, when Central schedules a supply drop.

The station is outfitted with enough supplies to carry Seungcheol through to the end of his mission, but occasionally Central will make un-manned deposits if one of their cargo shuttles is passing nearby. Which, when you’re stationed this far out in space, is approximately every six months.

There’s never anything special on-board; just upgrades for the computer, spare machinery for repairs and a few extra rations for the pantry. But Seungcheol needs to be present on deck anyway, so when Central authorises the shipment, he organizes himself to be awake for when it’s scheduled to arrive. 

It means monitoring the flight deck each night for two days on either side of the ETA, and that means a lot of staring at the same view outside the viewport for hours on end.

 _Best view known to mankind_ , someone could argue, _you’re seeing things only a handful of people ever will, count yourself lucky_. But ultimately, stars are just bright pinpricks of destruction, explosions and chemical chain reactions and pure energy, massive and luminous against the backdrop of the void.

He’d much prefer the view of mountains enshrouded in fog, light refracting through dew; forests of tall, towering redwoods, or damp, misting jungles awash in a sea of green. He’ll probably feel differently about it when he’s back on Earth, looking up.

Getting home used to seem like a lifetime away, but now that he has company the days seem to be blurring into each other. He’ll be back on Earth before he knows it, and Jihoon—what will become of--

Seungcheol’s line of thought if cut short when he realises he’s not alone on the flight deck.

He turns, not entirely surprised to find Jihoon curled into the co-pilot’s chair that looks three sizes too big for him, watching him from out of the darkness. His arms are wrapped around his knees, fingers tangled in the hem of his pyjama cuff. 

For such a little guy he takes up a lot of space once you notice he’s there.

Seungcheol swivels the chair round just far enough to see him. "What are you doing up this early?" He asks him, over the quiet hum of night.

“Your mom.” Jihoon answers without missing a beat.

Seungcheol smiles even though he’s trying not to.

He really regrets not activating a child-lock setting on his data-pad before he gave Jihoon free reign. Wonders whether he should be pleased or horrified that human televised entertainment is having _influences_ on his Alien when he isn't looking.

“Very funny Jihoon,” He says, frowning as he takes in Jihoon’s serious expression. The reflection of light from the console flickers patterns over his face. He looks troubled. “What’s up? You have another bad dream?”

Jihoon fiddles with his pyjama cuff, toes curling and uncurling against the soft leather of the seat. The night is still and silent around them, which means there's nothing else for Jihoon to look at—no movement to draw his attention—but he keeps his eyes averted anyway.

“C’mon—talk to me.” Seungcheol says, watching him carefully.

When Jihoon still doesn't look at him, he reaches out—sets a firm hand on Jihoon's arm and lets his fingers close into a commanding grip. “What’s up?”

“That’s what she said.” Jihoon blurts out, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Seungcheol laughs, a startled burst, “No, no. Nice try though. I’ll give you points for the ‘your mom’ line, but ‘that’s what she said’ only works if I say something _unintentionally_ double entendre. You can’t just use it anywhere and expect it to make sense.”

Jihoon heaves a put-upon sigh and rolls his shoulders, “Human satire is confusing.”

“I don’t know if your mom jokes are the best example of human satire as such.” Seungcheol chuckles, scratching his chin. “What’s comedy like on your world? Do your people _make_ jokes?”

Jihoon juts his chin out proudly, “Of course. We are renowned for our humorous anecdotes.” He smiles, very slightly, “I have a good one, would you like to hear it?”

Seungcheol dips his head, a gentleman’s nod. “Sure.”

“I’m not sure it will translate well, but it goes something like this. A hydrogen atom and a helium atom are floating in the intergalactic medium. The Hydrogen atom asks, how many parsecs to the nearest planet, the helium atom says—I don’t know. I’m not ionised yet!”

Seungcheol blinks at him, waiting for the punchline—but apparently that has come and gone because Jihoon is already laughing, a giggling snicker as though it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

When Seungcheol doesn’t join in, his laughter stops abruptly and dark eyes blink up at Seungcheol, awash in disappointment.

“Did you not enjoy my joke?” Jihoon murmurs.

“Oh—oh I did. I did. I just—” Seungcheol fumbles, then plasters on a fake grin. “I just got it. _Ionised_.” “Wow, that’s—” He throws in some fake laughter and a thigh slap for good measure. “That’s the best joke I’ve ever heard.”

Jihoon lifts a shoulder. “It is one of my favourites.” He whispers with a self-conscious smile. 

“I can see why.” Seungcheol says, wiping a non-existent tear from the corner of his eye. If there’s a place in heaven for people who laugh at non-funny jokes to spare someone’s feelings, he’s earned it. “My sides are _splitting_ right now.”

Jihoon smiles softly and rests his chin on his knee. “Now it’s your turn. Amuse me with your human humour.”

“Okay, let me think…” Seungcheol turns to stare out the viewport and scratches his chin.

Put on the spot, he can’t really remember the last time he heard a really good joke that made him laugh out loud. He’s got plenty of _crude_ jokes, but resists the urge to make one because Jihoon probably won't get it and that's half the fun. Or maybe he _does_ get them but he's just too intelligent to admit as much. It's not like he isn't rocking a fierce poker face there. Seungcheol should absolutely take advantage of that and teach him to play poker at some point, maybe call it 'an experiment in subterfuge' for Jihoon’s benefit.

Eventually Seungcheol settles for some lame ass science joke he heard on _The Big Bang Theory._ He’s sure Jihoon will appreciate the science behind it, if nothing else.

“Alright. Uhm—so a neutron walks into a bar and asks the bartender, how much for a drink? The bartender replies, For you—no charge.”

He has no idea _why_ the joke makes Jihoon laugh, but it does. A helpless, exasperated, almost manic sound as his eyes pinch shut and he slumps forward with shaking shoulders. He laughs so long Seungcheol has the distinct urge to ask if he's okay.

“You liked that huh?” He asks, confused.

Jihoon just laughs harder, shaking with it, clutching his stomach.

“Yes—” He says, a howl of mirth escaping around the words, “You are so funny.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh along too—not because it’s funny, it’s not even a funny joke—but Jihoon’s flushed bright red with amusement and his hair is everywhere and he's biting down on his fist to keep himself from laughing again, and Seungcheol can’t help but get dragged along in bemusement. 

After a minute, Jihoon's laughter quiets, and he slumps back into his chair. He breathes heavily for a second, in that way you do when you're trying to calm yourself from hysteria, and then he says.

“I—I almost lost control of my bladder, that’s never happened before. You are truly a comedic genius Seungcheol.”

It takes Seungcheol a moment to register that Jihoon really means that, and he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. Comedic genius is a _bit_ of a stretch—but he’s not about to disabuse Jihoon of the notion.

“Wow—uhm, thanks. I was beginning to think you weren’t capable of compliments.” He smirks.

Jihoon says nothing, but he turns to look out the window and his mouth twists into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile at the corner. The lights from the console makes the side of his face blue, picks out all his hard clean lines. He looks unconsciously, heartbreakingly beautiful, and it’s on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue to tell him so.

Instead he reaches over and catches him by the wrist. “C’mere.”

Jihoon makes a surprised noise when Seungcheol pulls him off the chair, but shifts easily over the gap between the seats to sit astride Seungcheol’s thighs.

Seungcheol's aware suddenly of how cold Jihoon is everywhere they touch. Every line of skin, every twitching muscle. He gets the feeling Jihoon's been sitting there this whole time, trying not to shiver, ruthlessly clamping down on his body's natural defence against the cold for a while. 

“Jesus, you’re freezing.” He murmurs, rubbing his hands down Jihoon’s arms, trying to press warmth into them. “Why didn’t you say anything? Usually you’re trying to leech all the warmth off me when you’re cold.”

“I was trying to respect your need for personal space.” Jihoon says, and he sounds so meek about it that Seungcheol wants to punch himself in the face for being such a dick about it before.

He supposes he _had_ been rather vocal about that issue. Now he can’t imagine why it mattered so much to him. He’d much prefer it like this between them.

“You know what—fuck my personal space.” He announces. Then he pulls Jihoon in closer, arms folding to curve round the Alien’s small back, he lets his hands spread on his shoulder blades and the shallow curve of his spine. He pulls until they're pressed together so tightly there's barely room to breathe between them.

To his delight, Jihoon flushes. He looks startled, but also a little pleased. He makes a noise, quiet and satisfied, then rests his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

A scant few seconds later, the _glowing_ starts.

Seungcheol had assumed that Jihoon would only glow during his sleep, that it was some kind of quirky Alien battery recharge. But Jihoon’s wide awake now, and he’s glowing so bright and intense it's hard to look at. Seungcheol's not sure he could look away if he wanted to, and his voice catches suddenly, stubbornly in his throat.

“So, uhm—I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s with the _glowing_ thing?”

“It’s a unique form of communication my species possesses. But unlike most other forms of communication, I cannot control it.” Jihoon whispers, pressing the words distractingly along Seungcheol's throat, nuzzling like an affectionate cat. “We radiate different hues when we are experiencing intense emotions.”

“Huh. So….what are you feeling now that’s making you all….goldy?”

Jihoon breathes quietly for a moment, then whispers, “I feel safe…..at peace.”

“Oh, right.” Seungcheol makes his tone light, but he’s caught off guard, can't quite smooth the rough gravel of feeling. “That’s, uhm—good to know. I’m happy you’re at peace here.”

Jihoon pillows his head more comfortably on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his eyes on the viewport. “I’m not at peace here—I’m at peace with _you_.”

Seungcheol’s whole world kind of turns upside down a little bit. He isn’t entirely sure what to say to that.

Jihoon feels safe with him—that’s pretty huge. He didn’t think he was doing a particularly stellar job as a housemate, but he must be doing _something_ right. It strikes him then, as he stares at the petite Alien curled up in his lap, that Jihoon is glad to have his company. As glad as he is to have Jihoon's.

They stay that way for a while, not saying much. Seungcheol feels strangely at peace too, almost outside of himself, until a soft beep from the console breaks their quiet, blissful moment.

Jihoon startles briefly, then leans over to study the screen, taut and urgent.

“What is that? Is it a response—to my distress signal?” 

Seungcheol purses his lips, taking a look for himself.

"Let's see." He says, tapping on the console to zoom in on the incoming object. A slate gray dot appears in the middle of the screen and grows larger as it gets closer. It’s immediately obvious what the incoming vessel is.

“Uh—no. Sorry. It’s actually an incoming cargo shipment I was expecting. See—” He says, gesturing at the pod on the viewscreen, “That’s Central’s insignia on the side of the pod.”

Jihoon quickly turns to glance out the viewport, then looks back at the screen again. He seems tense, almost frightened. It's on the tip of Seungcheol's tongue to say something, he doesn't know what—just something to take the edge off the situation—but then Jihoon slumps back against his chest again, his shoulders sagging dejectedly.

“Of course it is.” He mumbles, sounding remote rather than annoyed. 

A buzzer sounds, and the bay doors open to accept the cargo.

“C’mon.” Seungcheol says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “Let’s head down to the loading deck and check it out. They might have accepted my request for more Cola.”

Jihoon makes a quiet noise of surprise, then in a flash, he’s leaping out of Seungcheol’s lap and zipping out of the flight deck.

“Hold yer horses, I haven’t opened the hangar yet.” Seungcheol yells after him.

* * *

Jihoon bounces from foot to foot, eager and excited as Seungcheol punches in the code sequence to open the crate.

“What is it? Is there cola?”

“You’ll see soon enough, stand back.” Seungcheol tells him. The crate hisses as the seal releases, then slides open.

Seungcheol waits for the fine layer of mist to float out of the crate before diving in. The top quarter of the crate is protective packaging, but underneath the foam padding he pulls out several vacuum packed, foil envelopes, labelled: Potatoes, Carats, parsnips, cranberry sauce etc. There’s another layer of padding to contend with, before Seungcheol reaches the centre of the crate and freezes in surprise.

“Woah—awesome.” He grins, hauling out a medium sized potted conifer tree.

Jihoon’s not paying any attention to the tree; he’s peering inside the crate with a look of longing in his face, searching for his cola. No such luck. When he finally does look at the tree, his expression isn’t delighted or awestruck. It’s pragmatic, assessing.

“Why would they send you a tree. You already _have_ a tree.”

“It’s a _Christmas_ tree Jihoon.” Seungcheol explains, standing back to inspect it.

It’s on the small side for a tree, only 4 foot tall. But hell—it’s a Christmas tree, just in time for Christmas. “This must be a Christmas care package from Central. Oh look, they’ve even included a pudding. They’re really pushing the boat out this year.”

Jihoon is now wearing his favourite blank face on the other side of the crate, “Christmas?”

A slow grin breaks out over Seungcheol’s face, “Oh boy Jihoonie. You’re in for some fun.”


	4. Traditions

**DAY: 791**

It's the soft ' _click, click, click_ ' that drags Seungcheol out of sleep, like the background noise to a strange dream.

Blinking at the ceiling for a second, he rolls over quickly when he determines the other side of the bed is empty and finds Jihoon awake, sitting up at the desk, face lit by the glow of the data-pad screen like he's in some sort of tense cyber-thriller.

A quick glance to the clock on the nightstand reveals it 3.25am Central time—which, _seriously_?

It’s very possible Jihoon’s woken up in the middle of the night to watch Spongebob Squarepants, and if that turns out to be true, Seungcheol thinks he might have to confiscate the data-pad from him. Or at least ration his hours on the damn thing. He kind of gets the impression that Jihoon’s species can be pretty obsessive about …well, _everything_. And the last thing he needs is Jihoon to develop a Spongebob Squarepants addiction on top of his Coca Cola addiction and his hot-chocolate addiction.

But the expression on Jihoon's face isn't exactly the sweaty hollow-eyed face of an addict. Instead he looks fascinated, prodding at the screen with the expression of someone who's confident in their ability to learn new things, even if he's obviously not exactly all the way there yet.

Seungcheol's already kicking the sheets out of the way before he's decided whether he's getting up or not. He moves across the floor, and it's cold under his bare feet, cold in the room.

"What are you doing?" he asks, barely loud enough to hear, resting a hand on Jihoon's shoulder. 

Whatever it is Jihoon's studying, he's clearly absorbed in the details because he stiffens in surprise under the pressure, just for a second, them carefully relaxes, giving under Seungcheol's fingers.

“Research," Jihoon says, equally quietly. "I apologise, I did not mean to wake you."

Seungcheol squeezes his shoulder. "It’s fine, I’m a light sleeper anyway.”

He leans down, finds the glare of the screen, which thankfully isn't displaying Spongebob’s smiley face for a change, but the Google Earth app showing a map of Lapland.

"Jihoonie," Seungcheol says carefully. "Are you using Google Earth to look for Santa Claus?"

“Of course not.” Jihoon huffs quietly. The globe on the screen spins under his drifting finger. "The satellite images are updated far too sporadically for it to be a serviceable tool in real time, but I thought I could at least use it to pin-point the location of his base of operations. Then perhaps I could visit him in person one day. He seems like such a fascinating man."

Seungcheol cringes internally, because when he started explaining the concept of Christmas to Jihoon, he was sure the culture clash and the stories of the fat man in the chimney would send his Alien brain spinning.

But Jihoon’s been so weirdly accepting of it all—it kind of hurts to burst his bubble.

“Listen, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol begins hesitantly. “You need to know something about Santa. Santa isn’t—He isn’t—”

Jihoon turns his head to look at him. The low blue-green of the data-pad leaves his face strangely vulnerable in the dark.

“Isn’t what?”

Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut.

He can’t believe he’s going to have to have the ‘ _Kris Kringle isn’t real’ chat_ with Jihoon.

And he really should have it—shouldn’t he? He’d always believed it was in his best interests—in humanity's best interests really—for him to be perfectly honest with Jihoon about every little human query he might have. So he should to be up front and honest about this, even if Jihoon’s searching for Saint Nick’s trail with so much earnest hope it’s breaking Seungcheol’s heart in two.

“—Isn’t visible on Google Maps.” Seungcheol finally replies with a perfectly straight face. “He uses a jamming radar to conceal his location from thieves. You’ll never find any trace of him, unless he _wants_ you to. He’s an illusive bastard when he wants to be.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Jihoon smiles, turning back to the screen.

Seungcheol huffs laughter and leans all the way into Jihoon's shoulders, reading the open tabs all along the top of the screen.

“You sure got a lot of tabs about Christmas open here—" He murmurs as he navigates through each one. And there’s a whole ton of them; Wikipedia articles about the _Origins_ of Christmas, ice skating and Douglas Fir pine trees; blogs on how to decorate your home for winter, last minute gift ideas and the best Christmas Songs and recipes upon recipes for everything from plum pudding to the best gingerbread.

For the last two years, Seungcheol’s Christmases have been a day marked by extreme boredom punctuated with bouts of sulky, childish envy. He could hardly be blamed for letting the day roll by without much fanfare; he was lightyears away from home after all, and though he could re-create the turkey dinner easily enough, there was no tree, no carols, no presents to be had. He never saw the point _half_ -celebrating something just for the sake of it, especially when he was all alone.

But now there's Jihoon, excited and eager, and Seungcheol’s permitted this little Christmas: an echo of the first Christmas he remembers from his childhood. He’s embarrassed to admit, he’s kind of looking forward to it.

“Learn anything new?” He asks, as he stops scrolling through the tabs.

“I was only attempting to understand the origins of this Christmas tradition—” Jihoon explains, “But that led me to have more questions than answers. This festive celebration of yours is surprisingly complex. There are so many different ways to celebrate it, and the customs vary in different regions of the Earth. I do not feel like a single day is sufficient to practice all the traditions at once.”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, because of course, Jihoon being Jihoon, he’s got to analyse the hell out of everything. Even Christmas.

“Don’t worry Jihoon, you don’t have to take part in _all_ the traditions to celebrate Christmas.”

“But I may never have the opportunity to experience this tradition again.” Jihoon offers dejectedly. Like he's already thought about it. “I must take this opportunity to do as much as possible.”

Seungcheol pats his shoulder. “Not everything has to happen on Christmas day itself. People celebrate the days leading up to it too. The 25th of the month is for the presents and feasting and togetherness or whatever. Just pick a few traditions that interest you the most, and we’ll try and do them.”

Jihoon nods and turns back to the screen with renewed purpose.

Seungcheol lays a hand where Jihoon's shoulder meets his neck, all cool skin and the threadbare edge of shirt collar, and squeezes. "Don't stay up too long, yeah."

"Or what?" Jihoon asks, not looking away from the screen.

“Or I’ll cancel Christmas.”

Jihoon looks up at him then, bottom lip quivering. His eyes start to water.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Seungcheol is quick to reassure. “But you need more sleep. And the data screen will burn your eyeballs out if you stare at it too long. It's like the sun that way."

Jihoon makes a noise that suggests he doubts the validity of that statement, or perhaps that he’s on first name terms with the sun and they’re firm friends and it would never do something so awful as burn his eyeballs. It’s hard to tell what Jihoon’s disagreeing about sometimes. 

Determining that he's far sleep deprived to argue, Seungcheol lets his hands slide away and blearily finds his way back to bed.

After a long minute the tiny clicks start up again and Seungcheol lets them lull him back to sleep.

* * *

**DAY: 792**

A piece of folded, yellow paper floats down onto his desk, makes Seungcheol spring up from where he'd been looking over the layout of the ventilation ducts on the third level.

He spins to find Jihoon is standing behind him, arms crossed, face impassive.

"What's this?" he asks, reaches for the slip of paper.

Jihoon brightens almost instantly and smiles, eyes shining with glee. “It is my Christmas strategy.”

“Christmas _strategy?”_ Seungcheol repeats slowly, because sometimes conversations with Jihoon merely require periodic repetition of confusing phrases.

“Yes.” Jihoon nods. He crosses his arms behind his back and begins pacing the room as he talks, like he’s sharing his plan of attack. Plan of attack against _Christmas_. “I have conducted some preliminary research into this human festivity, and as per your suggestion, have narrowed down a list of Christmas activities I think will be most useful for me to experience in the coming days.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Seungcheol drawls.

This, when given thought, is unsurprising, given that Jihoon seems to approach everyday tasks with the same scientific precision he uses with all his _experiments_. Seungcheol wouldn’t be surprised if Jihoon has drawn up a timetable dividing up his free time between eating, Spongebob, and having a nap.

Nevertheless, his mouth twitches as he starts reading the list Jihoon’s prepared for him.

  * Participate in a snowball duel



_Christmassy, sure, but hardly achievable in fucking space._

  * Attend a Christmas Market



_Also unachievable._

  * Decorate a Christmas Tree



_That, at least, is a done deal._

  * Make Gingerbread Humans



_Seungcheol snorts messy laughter at that one._

  * Listen to Christmas Music



_As long as it’s not Michael Bublé, consider it done._

  * Attend a religious service



_Nope._

  * Watch a Christmas Movie



_Easy._

  * Consume the festive Galliformes



_Seungcheol’s going out on a limb here and guessing that’s the fancy science word for turkey._

  * Ice skate



_Not going to happen, unless….No. It’s not going to happen._

  * Kiss under the mistletoe



_………Woah._

Frowning, Seungcheol puts the list down on the desk.

“Jihoon,” He begins, mouth dry. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we can’t do half the stuff on this list.”

“Why not?” Jihoon replies waspishly.

Seungcheol sucks in a steadying breath, then grabs a pen and starts striking through the list. “Well—for starters, some of them are not physically possible up here in space. We’ll manage numbers 3,4,5,7 and 8, but we need to be on Earth if we want to see snow, or ice skate or shop the markets. And I’m not really… _religious_ , so I wouldn’t know the first thing about holding a religious service.”

Jihoon stops pacing. He’s quiet, but it's a focused quiet, like he's considering something. So Seungcheol waits. He looks down at his hands in his lap, picks absently at a hangnail.

“What about kissing under the mistletoe? Can we do that?” Jihoon finally says.

Seungcheol’s face flushes. He lets out an exasperated huff and whirls on Jihoon.

Jihoon is staring back with hopeful, honest-to-Christ puppy-dog eyes. His pupils are _huge_. 

It would take a much stronger man than Seungcheol to even consider resisting that look—but he’s pretty sure Jihoon doesn’t know what he’s asking for here.

“Well—I—uh.” Seungcheol stammers, face turning red. “I don’t think we _have_ any mistletoe onboard to do that.”

“Oh,” Jihoon sticks his lower lip out. “That’s disappointing. I was rather looking forward to that.”

“Yeah. Uhm—” Seungcheol fidgets with the curled edge of the paper nervously, “But it’s not a great tradition anyway. I mean, most people skip it, so you’re not going to miss out on much if we don’t.”

Jihoon shrugs affably. “If you really believe so—”

“I _do_. I really _do_!” Seungcheol says. And, okay, he probably could have been less enthusiastic about that. But only just.

* * *

"What’s the point of this?" Jihoon complains, and not for the first time. His voice holds the confused defence of someone who's being forced by his parents to speak to his great aunt once removed over Skype when they can't communicate in the same language. 

Seungcheol brushes the question off with a wave of his hand, “Look—we’re doing it and that’s final.”

Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest belligerently. “My research indicates that the act of secret Santa, requires more than two participants. Otherwise the secret is hardly one at all.”

“It’s tradition Jihoon. It’s important.”

Jihoon mumbles something about importance being a matter of opinion.

Seungcheol stops messing with the ship controls to glare at him over the head rest, "What was that?"

"Some of these traditions are stifling constructs," Jihoon grumbles, which wasn't what he'd said at all.

“Look—” Seungcheol huffs, spinning in his chair to face him. “I’m helping you with the list of things you want to do—we should at least do one thing _I_ want. And I want a Secret Santa.”

Jihoon makes his 'this cannot end well' face. “If you insist, I suppose I could maintain the secrecy of the act by cloning multiple versions of myself and have _them_ partake—”

“No. No. _No_.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “No clones. We’ve _talked_ about this.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes like Seungcheol is intentionally being difficult. “Why not? I plan on destroying them after Christmas is over.”

 _“No clones, Jihoon_.” Seungcheol says pointedly. “Just pick something you think I will like. I’ll pick something I think you will like, and we’ll wrap it up and give it to each other on Christmas Day.”

There’s the tiniest pause before Jihoon says, “Fine then. I would like ten paperclips, and a can of Coca-Cola. Wait, no—two cans!”

“You can’t _tell_ me what you want.” Seungcheol groans. “It has to be a surprise. I’ll pick something else for you.”

Jihoon makes a face like the idea is very unpleasant indeed. “What use is that? This arrangement is only mutually beneficial if we know and exchange things each of us require. Otherwise we could end up with things we have no need for.”

“That’s what Christmas is all about!” Seungcheol says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Getting shit you don’t need but smiling and thanking the person anyway. That’s Christmas!”

Jihoon snorts in a way that has been, yet again, disappointed but not surprised by humanity.

“This is why your species have failed to master the depth of space. You waste your time on foolish, useless traditions.”

Seungcheol cuts him an unimpressed look. “I knew you’d be a Christmas Grinch about _something_ —but I never thought it would be about this. For a lot of people, the presents are the best _thing_ about Christmas Jihoonie.”

Jihoon huffs like he's not sure if he should be insulted or not.

“I don’t know what Christmas Grinch means, but from the inflection in your voice I am deducing it’s not a favourable comparison. Instead of replying back rashly, I will conduct further research on this Christmas Grinch and return with my response.”

“I look forward to hearing it.” Seungcheol deadpans.

“Aha!” Jihoon says, pointing. “Sarcasm detected. I am on to you Choi Seungcheol. I refuse to be belittled with your primitive linguistic tool.”

“Oh, no. I’m so _scared_.” Seungcheol says—in a tone of voice that makes sure to tell Jihoon that it really, really isn't.

Jihoon offers a half-frown and tilts his head.

“There is nothing to be afraid of. I was merely pointing out that I could detect—wait a second!” He announces suddenly, pointing another accusatory finger. "You did it again. Cease using sarcasm against me, you _fiend_.”

Seungcheol resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Alright. I’m _sorry_.” He drawls.

Jihoon tosses him a sharp look, something that's layered with judgement and focus; Seungcheol can tell he is thinking really, really hard.

Finally he speaks, “That was sarcasm too—wasn’t it?”

“ _Noo_. Of course not.” Seungcheol says….. _sarcastically_. He resists the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him.

Jihoon doesn't have a _'you're being a dick,'_ face, or if he does Seungcheol hasn't seen it yet. No, he has the _'I'm so disappointed in you right now, you're solely responsible for lowering my faith in humanity'_ look.

“That’s it!” He growls, throwing his hands up in frustration, “I refuse to converse with you when you insist on this juvenile response. When you are ready to speak to me more maturely, I will be in the med-bay, working on your secret Santa gift.” He says, storming off with a snort of disgust.

“No clones!” Seungcheol yells after him.

* * *

**DAY: 793**

Seungcheol clears the error logs off the screen with the stab of a button.

 _That_ was a colossal waste of time, and he has only himself and his paranoia to thank once again, whoop-dee-fucking-doo. 

After three different types of diagnostics and even after ripping apart the control panel on the wall, there’s nothing to indicate a problem with the station’s perpetual spin system. He’ll just have to put it down to a software error for now, and hope there really _isn’t_ a fault here that causes the station to rotate uncontrollably while they’re sleeping.

Having his bones and soft tissue separated by intense centrifugal force is probably his least favourite way to die.

He sets to work reassembling the various components of the access panel, screw driver in one hand. He’s just begun reattaching wires where they’re supposed to go when Jihoon’s voice echoes over the comm system.

“Seungcheol. Please join me in the recreation area, I require your assistance.”

Seungcheol sighs, eyeing the detritus of his maintenance, wondering how quickly he’ll be able to put it all back together and how slapdash a job it’s going to be. It’s not as bad as it could be, he decides. At least he’s already got all the delicate parts back in place.

Hastily screwing plates and fixing wires back in place, Seungcheol is working on the final bolt when Jihoon’s voice calls out once again.

“Quickly. It’s an emergency!”

Seungcheol rather doubts that.

Jihoon’s definition of emergency involves such things as: _‘My soup is too hot’_ and _‘Your data pad ran out of charge and I want to watch things’_ and notably _‘I had a dream that I was a tiny pickle person and you were my caretaker’_ —but he sighs and shoves his seat back from the flight console anyway.

He really regrets teaching Jihoon how to use the onboard comm system, because now the Alien has the ability to get his attention without ever having to seek him out. It’s a real pain in the ass.

Climbing up to the main deck, Seungcheol ambles his way back to the rec room to find Jihoon sitting on the couch, looking very serious. Far more serious than anyone should be when staring at a Christmas stocking.

Seungcheol braces himself mentally as he approaches. “Alright—what’s the emergency _this_ time?”

The Alien looks up at him, then turns back to the stocking. “This sock is missing it’s pair. You led me to believe that all socks are paired, yet this sock is all alone. I have searched the station and I cannot find the matching pair. Why is this sock all alone Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol looks at him blankly for a minute, as if to say 'really, really?' Sometimes he has to remind himself to be _so patient_ with Jihoon.

“It’s not a sock, Jihoon, it’s a stocking. A decoration—for _Christmas_.”

“I see.” Jihoon eyeballs the stocking with an expression of amused frustration, usually Seungcheol's the one responsible for that. “And it is designed to be alone?”

“Yup.” Seungcheol puffs out, then reaches over to pluck the stocking from Jihoon’s hand, holding it up by the hook. “Traditionally at Christmas, people would hang a stocking at the end of their bed, and Santa would leave presents inside.”

Jihoon makes a curious noise. “I thought the gifts were to be placed _under_ the tree.”

“Yeah—but Santa leaves smaller gifts in the stocking. Stocking fillers, like little toys and treats and stuff.”

Jihoon tips his head to the side, seemingly spellbound by the implied possibilities. “And will he be obligated to do this if we hang the stocking at the end of our bed?”

 _Great_ , Seungcheol thinks. Another thing he’s going to have to take care of. He makes a mental note to himself.

“Yes, Jihoonie.”

Jihoon makes a noise in his throat, something Seungcheol's heard before, though he's come to associate it with Jihoon's moments of self-congratulatory brilliance.

“There is only one stocking, and there are two of us. Are we to _share_ the treats?”

“Tell you what—” Seungcheol says, handing the stocking back, “You can have the stocking Jihoonie. Whatever Santa leaves inside it on Christmas Day, is all yours.”

Jihoon's smiles at him in that odd way he has, as if something amazing has just happened to him. An awkward, crooked stretch of mouth, like his face isn't quite used to it. It's one of those little things that Seungcheol thinks makes him look reassuringly, ridiculously human.

* * *

“You know—” Seungcheol begins, tapping his foot impatiently. “It’s easier to decorate the tree if we put the lights on first.”

Jihoon raises a dubious eyebrow, but doesn’t actually look up. “Says whom?”

He’s kneeling by the power socket, staring at the flashing string of Christmas lights in his hand, as if mesmerized. The sight would have been not only endearing but highly amusing if not for the fact that Jihoon has been cooing at that same tangle of lights for nearly an hour without making any discernible progress.

Seungcheol scratches his head and bites back a sigh. At this rate they’re never going to get the tree decorated. He is briefly— _very briefly_ —tempted to turn off the damn fairy lights to prove a point. It's only the certainty that that will most definitely make Jihoon cry that stops him.

“Nobody specifically. I’m just talking from experience. The lights are fiddly and hard to arrange. If we wait till _after_ we decorate it, we have to navigate around all the decorations.”

“But I want to research them a while longer.” Jihoon protests.

Seungcheol chuckles, “I’m beginning to think you use the word _research_ , when you really mean _play_.”

Jihoon finally stops cooing at the Christmas lights to scowl at him. “No, I don’t. I am performing very important scientific research here. When I have concluded my study, the Universe will be indebted to my efforts.”

Seungcheol regards him indulgently. “Just admit you want to play with the lights.”

Jihoon shoots him an annoyed look. Then a thoughtful one. Then a small smile. “I must admit—they _are_ very enchanting.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh and turns to survey his most recent attempts at interior decorating for the holidays.

It’s safe to say they’ve achieved Christmassy.

 _Amateur Christmassy_.

Seungcheol has a vague idea of what festive holiday décor should look like, but the contents of the crate only went so far, so he’s tried to piece together some homemade decorations using the supplies around the station. Now the whole rec room is decked out with enough strings of light, glow sticks, paper garlands and fake snow it’s probably a fire hazard waiting to happen.

But hey, it’s only for a few days.

With only the tree left to spruce up, Seungcheol busies himself popping out the rest of the decorations from their packaging and threading the baubles with wire, until all that’s left is to unravel the long garland of golden tinsel.

“Tell you what Jihoonie.” Seungcheol begins thoughtfully, “If you give me the lights, I’ll give you this instead. It’s much shinier, don’t you think?”

Jihoon stops staring at the lights to look up at him, and when his eyes settle on the string of tinsel, they light up crazily. Seungcheol imagines it’s the same reaction one would get from waving red at an especially determined bull.

“Ooh.”

Seungcheol grins. “Yeah— _tinsel_.”

“ _Tinsel_.” Jihoon echoes in awe, abandoning the string of lights to pad over to where Seungcheol is waving the tinsel. 

It’s a relatively smooth exchange, and Seungcheol finally manages to get the lights untangled and wrapped around the tree in some semblance of order. He’s not sure what he can offer for Jihoon to surrender the tinsel at a later stage, but he figures he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. And if he doesn’t, the tree will look awesome without tinsel anyway. Sometimes it’s easier to give in to Jihoon’s strange and unreasonable whims than to try to fight them.

“You gonna help me decorate this thing or what?” Seungcheol says, hefting the box of decorations under his arm.

Jihoon isn't paying any attention. He’s too busy admiring his garland of tinsel, threading it between his fingers, rubbing it against his cheek, sniffing it— _rolling_ in it. He’s like a fucking cat.

“C’mon! You’re the one who dragged me away from work for this.”

Jihoon waves his fingers at him in a _'Shhh—I’m conducting research,'_ sort of way. Which really should annoy him far more than it does.

Shaking his head, Seungcheol grumpily strings a bead garland around the tree and starts hanging the ornaments half-heartedly. He runs out of things to hang sooner than he expects, so he’s left with one side of the tree completely bare. Deciding that it will take too much time, and effort, to remove some ornaments and spread them out—he wrangles the tree into the corner of the room to disguise the non-decorated half.

It’s mostly successful. Mostly.

His tree decorating protocol leaves a lot to be desired; the way he’s flung the baubles on blindly suggests the tree was decorated by an unsupervised toddler, though he doubts he would have managed better even with Jihoon’s help.

Happily, though, his bout of pessimism was all for nothing. As soon as he flicks the lights on, the entire tree transforms into a glowing wonder, disguising his haphazard decorating attempts completely. 

"Ooh," breathes Jihoon from somewhere behind him. 

Seungcheol grins over his shoulder at him. "Not bad eh?”

In a flash, Jihoon’s at his side, marvelling at the tree. 

He doesn’t launch himself into the branches to rip off all the ornaments though. Which is odd. Seungcheol gets the impression that usually when Jihoon finds something new and shiny he'll jump on it straight away with all the self-control of an excitable kitten.

Instead he just stands there— _caressing all the baubles._

“You’re a regular little magpie huh.” Seungcheol feels compelled to point out.

Jihoon cuts him a confused look.

“It’s a type of bird on Earth.” Seungcheol explains. “It’s attracted to shiny objects, and will often steal and hoard them in their nest.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, “That comparison seems rather insulting. I would never _steal_ anything. I am just appreciating how the light reflects off the surface of these ornaments, the dazzling colours they project.” He murmurs, delicately spinning a glittering bauble with a brush of his finger. “Such objects are rare and revered on my home planet.”

“I guess it’s the same on Earth, in a sense. The most coveted items are generally shiny in nature, like gold and diamonds and—” Seungcheol pauses mid-sentence when an idea occurs to him. “I think I just figured out what I’m going to get you for secret Santa.”

“Tinsel?” Jihoon asks, making his patented big _please, oh please_ eyes.

“No.” Seungcheol laughs, pulling the tinsel garland from between Jihoon’s hands. He contemplates throwing it on the tree, then decides to loop it around Jihoon’s neck instead, like a scarf. “But you can absolutely keep that anyway. It looks better on you.”

The flash of Jihoon’s smile is the brightest thing in the room, outshining even the star on top of the tree.

* * *

**DAY: 794**

Seungcheol doesn't consider himself to be an especially fussy person. He realizes he’s probably alone in this opinion. To his mind, though, he just has things he likes and things he doesn't, the same as everyone else. He’s in favour of basketball, movies starring Denzel Washington, and peanut butter. He frowns on clowns, anything that disrupts his routine, and kale salad—and now he can add making gingerbread to that list.

It had all seemed so easy when his mom had walked him through his grandmother’s recipe. And when he was a kid, he'd help her mix the ingredients, and she'd rolled out the dough, and together they'd cut out the gingerbread men. He doesn't know what he’s done wrong with this batch though—or how much flour he can keep adding before the cookies turn out as hard as rocks—but the gingerbread is still more goo than dough. Every time he tries rolling it out, it sticks to the counter, the rolling pin, his fingers, and anything else it can attach itself to.

His mom had offered to video chat with him to supervise, but that wasn’t an option with Jihoon floating in the background, so Seungcheol had insisted that he could handle it by himself.

Clearly that had been an error in judgment, because it’s been two hours since he started, and he doesn't have a single gingerbread man to show for himself.

Nevertheless, he dusts the dough with another liberal handful of flour and decides to give the rolling pin one more shot.

Jihoon comes around to peer over his shoulder when he’s elbow deep in gingerbread, a curious look on his face.

“The consistency of the dough does not seem correct.” He points out. In what he clearly thinks is his sensible and helpful voice.

Seungcheol glares at his ear.

“Don’t you think I know that!” He snaps back defensively. He refuses to pause his wrangling of the dough though. If he stops now, he feels sure that the dough will actually win and he refuses to let the gingerbread get the best of him.

Jihoon slips between him and the counter to poke at the dough. Then frowns when a large gloop of it sticks to his finger. Seungcheol’s certain the dough should not be in anyway gloopy at this point. 

"It's not as bad as it looks," He says, even more defensively.

Actually, it’s entirely possible that it’s worse than it looks.

After another liberal dusting of flour (very liberal), Seungcheol finally gets the dough rolled out, but it seems stiffer than he remembers when he'd made the cookies with his mother.

When he grabs a gingerbread man shaped cookie cutter, Jihoon's mouth turns up at the corners.

"May I help?"

"Sure. You want to cut out the gingerbread men?"

Jihoon nods eagerly, and Seungcheol hands over the cookie cutter.

Jihoon concentrates carefully, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. When he's cut as many cookies as he can and arranges them on the baking sheets, Seungcheol gathers up the scraps of dough and rolls it out again. Somehow it seems easier this time around, and Jihoon goes to work with the cookie cutter once more. They finish up the rest in no time at all.

"We make a good team," Jihoon declares as Seungcheol pops the baking sheets into the double ovens.

Empirically this is true, so there really is no reason for Seungcheol to feel as ridiculously pleased by the comment as he does.

The scent of warm sugar and spice quickly fill the air. "Are they ready yet?" Jihoon says, looking hopeful and hungry.

"Please don’t get your hopes up Jihoonie. They could be awful," Seungcheol feels the need to warn him.

Jihoon shakes his head. "You are extremely resourceful and talented when it comes to culinary achievements. I am certain they will be excellent."

There is nothing particularly logical about that argument, cooking and baking are very different fields, but Seungcheol feels his cheeks pink at the compliment anyway.

When the oven's timer buzzes, he pulls the trays out, trying not to look as concerned as he feels.

Jihoon promptly volunteers, "Shall I test one?"

"You have to wait for them to cool," Seungcheol insists, but Jihoon has already plucked one gingerbread man off the tray and bitten his leg off. He chews thoughtfully before declaring, "The gingerbread humans are a success."

"Really?" Seungcheol’s voice lilts up hopefully.

"Indeed," Jihoon reiterates with his mouth full. He must have meant it too, because he reaches for another cookie.

Seungcheol bats his hand away. "If you eat them all now, we won’t have any left to ice."

"But I only tested one. If I do not test another, I cannot verify the validity of my results," Jihoon says sulkily.

Seungcheol can't argue with that. "Okay, but just one more."

Jihoon grins happily and snags his cookie.

* * *

Seungcheol has always been a seat-of-the-pants kind of decision-maker. You don't get plucked out of pilot training to work for the largest space fairing corporation in the world by playing it safe. He believes in taking chances the way other people believe in God or never paying retail prices. His gut hasn't led him astray yet, and so when it comes to picking a secret Santa gift for Jihoon—he decides to try something new.

Jihoon’s love of all things shiny has sparked an idea in his mind, an idea that involves the paperweight on his desk.

No—he’s not gifting Jihoon a paperweight, but rather the raw Moonstone gem hidden inside the rock.

He’d picked the rock up on a visit to Sri Lanka, a rushed training trip that took place on a mostly nocturnal schedule, and had been fascinated by its bluish adularescence when the light hit off it in just the right way.

He never found a use for it, and it’s not much to look at now; a palm sized rock with rough, misshapen edges; but with the right Dremel drill attachment, a little cutting, sanding and polishing—Seungcheol _knows_ he can shape it into something beautiful. Time permitting, he might even be able to fashion a simple silver chain too, so Jihoon can wear the Moonstone gem as a pendant. 

Best case scenario: Jihoon happy glows over it for a week, then reports back to his home world that Seungcheol is awesome.

Worst case scenario: Well….

It’s the thought that counts, _right_?

* * *

**DAY: 795**

Seungcheol’s moving quietly as he can in the blueish light of the room. He doesn't do more than drop an orange into the toe of Jihoon’s stocking, though, before Jihoon sighs, rolls over, and comes up on one elbow, blinking blearily.

“Seungcheol? What are you doing awake? And what are you doing with my stocking? Are you trying to—” He gasps quietly. “ _Steal_ it?”

"Of course, I’m not," Seungcheol says, exasperated but fond. "I’m putting things in it."

Jihoon licks his lips and rubs his head, mussing his hair even more. "I thought that was Santa’s job.”

Seungcheol waves a hand at him. "Santa’s entrusted me with the job—he’s too busy delivering presents to worry about filling stockings. Now close your eyes, go back to sleep and cooperate."

"Mm," says Jihoon, agreeably enough, and sinks back into the pillows to drowse.

Seungcheol drops another handful of small gifts into the open mouth of Jihoon’s stocking, listening to him stretch and sigh sleepily. He'd wanted to fill the stocking with the kinds of toys and sweets he remembered from when he was young enough to be granted such indulgences, but he’s a little limited with his provisions on the station. So he’s filling it with items he’s managed to squirrel away from the care packages he’s received over the years.

When he plops the tin of Cola inside, Jihoon springs upright in bed again, eyes wide. “Is that Cola? I heard a cola can. Can I have it now?”

Seungcheol holds a finger up to his lips. “No, you can’t. You can look at your stocking in the morning.”

“But it’s technically morning _now_.” Jihoon whines, pout evident, even in the dark.

"I swear to _God_ Jihoon, if you don’t go back to sleep—I’m pitching this stocking out the air lock," Seungcheol says darkly, but he can't help smiling as he shoves the Cola can in deeper, so he can fit a small pouch of chocolate coins at the top.

Jihoon huffs and plants himself face-down on the pillow, in his customary sulking fashion.

“That should do it,” Seungcheol says at last, hooking the oversized candy cane over the top of the stocking and wedging a tiny bottle of Bailey’s alongside it.

When he flops down on his side of the bed, Jihoon turns his head to look at him. Seungcheol doesn't even know how he can still see his eyes, but he can. They should have looked blurry and coloured out in the darkness, but he can still tell that they're the brightest blue he’s ever seen.

“Go back to sleep.” Seungcheol orders. 

Jihoon ignores him, scooting closer until he can wedge himself in the crook of Seungcheol’s arm. “I can’t. I’m too excited.”

“Yes, well—that’s to be expected. It _is_ Christmas. It’s an excitable time of year and you’re an excitable person at the best of times.” Seungcheol says.

He burrows a bit further under the covers and considers having another run at sleeping. But Jihoon’s wide awake now, and poking him in the cheek in a way that won’t be ignored.

“Are you not excited too?”

“No. Not really.” Seungcheol explains around a jaw-cracking yawn. At Jihoon’s downcast expression, he offers a careless shrug. “Those days are long gone for me. As you get older, you lose that sense of magic and wonder. Part of being an adult is having less and less things to appreciate in the same way. But I get it, you know—I remember what it felt like. On Christmas eve, I used to stay up late at night with my brother Seungmin. We’d pretend to sleep, but we’d actually be reading stories with a torch under the bedsheets, waiting for Santa.”

“Stories?” Jihoon gives him a considering look. “What kind of stories?”

Seungcheol, almost half-asleep, rouses himself enough to say, “Oh just the standard cliched Christmassy ones, filled with wacky shenanigans and dramatic misunderstandings that all magically get resolved on Christmas Eve.”

“Will you tell me a story?” Jihoon asks in a hushed voice, his eyes big.

“What, now?” Seungcheol says, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Can this wait till later? I’m running on empty here.”

“Please? There are so many traditions I wish to experience and not enough time.” Jihoon asks, with that look Seungcheol can’t refuse.

Seungcheol sighs and leans over to grab his data-pad off the bedside table. Under different circumstances, he probably would have told Jihoon to fuck off. But he’d decided sometime in the wee hours of the night that he would move heaven and hell to give Jihoon the happy holiday he deserves. If that means reading him a story at half past bastard, then so be it.

Swiping his data-pad open, he does a quick search for the most popular Christmas stories, and settles for the first one that pops up.

_“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”_

“Mouse?” Jihoon interjects, sounding honestly puzzled.

“Oh, it’s just an animal we have back on Earth. It’s like a small, pesky rodent.” Seungcheol offers, when it seems he needs an explanation.

Jihoon’s face lights up. “Rodent—as in a _rat_? Like the rat from _Ratatouille_?”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at him then, because Jihoon remembers so many ridiculous things that aren't important until they _are_.

“Yes—exactly. I _knew_ you’d love that movie.”

Jihoon’s mouth quirks up in a strange little smile; he seems pleased about that. “That’s nice. I’m glad rats celebrate Christmas too.”

Seungcheol ruffles his hair fondly before continuing.

_“The stockings where hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that--”_

“What’s a Chimney?” Jihoon pipes in suddenly.

Sometimes Seungcheol wishes Jihoon would just ask him normal questions, like a normal person. But then, he wouldn't be Jihoon if he did.

“It’s a ventilation system that some older human habitats used to have when they relied on fires to heat rooms and create ambience. It allowed hot air and smoke to escape safely.” Seungcheol explains evenly, _patiently_.

“Really?” Jihoon looks sceptical. “A fire—in one’s home. Sounds _pre-historic.”_

Seungcheol blows out a sigh. “Most people have upgraded their homes now. This is just a really old poem, and I don’t think it would have the same ring to it if people hung their stockings by the _solar panels_ with care.”

Jihoon makes a 'hmm' noise in his throat, as if he isn't entirely convinced, but motions for Seungcheol to continue reading.

_“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced—”_

“Sugar Plums?” Jihoon interjects once more, turning his head towards him curiously.

The data-pad dims by the time Seungcheol can think of an appropriate response. “You know—this poem’s going to take all night to get through if you keep interrupting me every five seconds.”

Jihoon smiles sheepishly. “Sorry—please continue.”

 _“And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my—"_ Seungcheol stops short when Jihoon breathes in sharply, like he’s thinking about interrupting again but trying not to. “Before you say anything, I don’t know what fucking _Kerchief_ is.” He says dryly.

Jihoon clamps his mouth shut, but Seungcheol doesn’t think for a minute that the interruptions are over.

Coming to a decision, he swipes the data pad shut and drops it on the mattress.

“Tell you what—how about you go ahead and open your stocking.”

“Really?” Jihoon asks, voice a high squeak of excitement.

He’s is even more bounce-off-the-walls happy then Seungcheol had imagined.

“Yeah—yeah, go fetch it.”

Jihoon bounds off the bed to grab his stocking, glowing like crazy. Just as Seungcheol thinks it’s safe to rest his head on the pillow and catch some shut eye, the petite alien’s plunking down on top of him.

“Don’t sleep now Seungcheol. Don’t you want to see what I’ve got in my stocking?” He gasps, like he’s already forgotten Seungcheol’s the one who filled it oh, say— _ten minutes ago._

“Of course.” Seungcheol says, with all the cheerfulness he can muster.

He moves to sit up on the bed, watching as Jihoon pulls out of his stocking—a candy cane; an orange; a deck of cards; a Chocolate reindeer; a pair of Christmassy socks; some chocolate coins; a scented bar of soap; a Rubik’s cube; a miniature bottle of Baileys; a tube of Smarties; a new toothbrush; a box of multicoloured paperclips; a can of Cola; a box of chocolate coated peanuts; a packet of bubble gum; a joke book and a Groot bobble head.

“It’s just like the one you have displayed on the flight deck!” Jihoon grins, rediscovering the secret awesomeness of bobble heads.

It's a good day for him, clearly.

“Yeah. An exact replica of it in fact.” Seungcheol smirks, easing himself back down on the bed.

Twenty seconds after he’s shut his eyes, there's the faint crinkling sound of a wrapper being opened and a quiet noise of discovery, and he thinks maybe that's Jihoon suitably distracted for the rest of the morning.

"Ooh, this chocolate has peanuts inside," Jihoon says, and Seungcheol's not entirely sure if that's surprise or disapproval.

Though something crunches a moment later, and Jihoon follows it up with another quiet ‘Ooh’, so if it was a surprise then at least it was a _good_ one.

“Chocolate makes me thirsty. I’m going to have my Cola now.” Jihoon says next, which makes enough alarm bells ring in Seungcheol’s head that he’s swearing and flailing his way upright.

“No you’re fucking not. It’s caffeine and I’m not having you jumping off the walls while I’m trying to—” Seungcheol pauses mid-lecture.

Jihoon’s wounded, wide eyed expression goes a long way in making him feel like an adult and a Grade A asshole on Christmas morning.

 _Jihoon’s first Christmas morning_ —he reminds himself.

“You know what Jihoon,” he reconsiders, pulling the tab on the Cola lid. “It’s Christmas. You can have whatever you want.”

Jihoon dimples like a cherub as he takes his first sip.

* * *

**CHRISTMAS DAY**

Seungcheol’s up at 7am—because it might be Christmas Day, but he’s still on the clock technically, still got work to do despite a meagre three hours of sleep.

Jihoon’s still asleep, curled up on the bed and clutching the remnants of his stocking possessively. Seungcheol leaves him to sleep a while longer while he performs some routine tasks, because he _knows_ his Alien’s had even _less_ sleep—what with the excitement of his stocking, and his 3am caffeine fix and the _‘Seungcheol, look, look—this cube! It rotates and has many colours’_ sometime around 5.30am.

Jesus, it's going to be a long day.

By 10am, all of Seungcheol’s routine maintenance jobs are complete, and he heads to the kitchen to make a start on Christmas dinner. He flips through the entertainment panel on the wall until he finds some acceptable Christmas music and adjusts the volume to play softly in the background while he preps the turkey.

He’s sliding a tray of roast potatoes in the oven when Jihoon finally emerges, looking exceptionally sleep rumpled and adorable.

“Good morning Jihoonie—Merry Christmas.”

“Froehlich Weihnachten,” Jihoon says, blinking and yawning.

Seungcheol pauses part-way through removing his oven mitts to squint at him. “ _What_?”

“It’s Merry Christmas in your human language, _German_. I thought it fitting, seeing as many of the Christmas traditions we’re partaking in originated from there.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The tree, the mulled wine, the gingerbread, the advent Calendar, Sankt _Nikolaus_ —many of the staples of modern Christmas traditions originated in 16th Century Germany.” Jihoon tells him, in that special 'I'm giving you obvious pieces of information because I like you,' tone he has.

“Huh.” Seungcheol pulls the oven mitts off and tosses them on the counter carelessly. “I didn’t know that.”

Jihoon smiles in that— _see, learning can be fun_ —way that's just ever so slightly annoying. 

“Well. Now you do. I’ve learnt a great many number of things researching this tradition of yours. And _frankly_ , I’m surprised a human of your level of intelligence would believe in some of the non-sensical myths and fabrications of this holiday.”

Seungcheol frowns, not quite understanding. “Are we talking about Santa Claus?”

The expression Jihoon turns on him is focused, and silent, and ever so slightly terrifying in a way Seungcheol can't quite name.

“Of course not. Anyone would be a _fool_ not to believe in Santa. Santa is very real.” He says firmly.

This from the man who regularly declares himself a genius—Seungcheol _has_ to grin.

“So, you still believe in him, huh?” Seungcheol allows because everything else coming out of his mouth would be sarcasm right now and, well. No.

“Of course. All my preliminary data supports the fact that he lives in the North Pole with Mrs Claus and his gravity defying reindeer, where he employs a taskforce of elves to assist him in mass production of toys. It makes perfect sense.”

Seungcheol scratches his chin, not quite following. “Then what Non-sensical myths are you talking about?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes like the answer should be obvious. “ _Jesus_ , of course.”

“Oh. _Right_.” Seungcheol huffs surprised amusement.

“Honestly.” Jihoon titters, “Human religious practices are baffling. How can a child, born thousands of years ago—”

“Jihoonie—” Seungcheol interrupts quickly, grabbing Jihoon be the shoulders before he spins off in one off his conversational tangents. “I’m gonna stop you there. Christmas isn’t about Jesus—it’s about Turkey, and trees, and presents and watching Die Hard re-runs and eating your weight in chocolate. At least, that’s what my Christmases are about.”

Jihoon looks confused and he looks irritated at being confused. He now obviously thinks he's failed some sort of important social interaction exam. Seungcheol already knows he's the sort of person who finds failure crushingly difficult to accept.

“What about Santa? Where does he fit in your Christmas?” Jihoon asks, with that edge of cautious accusation he's so good at.

“I don’t really believe in him.” Seungcheol says honestly. He watches Jihoon’s mouth pull down at the edge and quickly adds, “But he can be part of your Christmas if you like.”

“Well—when’s he coming?”

Seungcheol winces. “He’s not coming, Jihoon. I’m sorry.”

“Because I failed to leave out some milk and cookies and a carrot for Rudolph?” Jihoon asks, plaintive enough to make Seungcheol’s heart clench with emotion. 

Seungcheol carefully takes hold of both his arms. “No, no. It’s not because of that. It’s because—Santa Claus kind of—can’t breathe in space. So he doesn’t venture far from Earth.”

“I see.” Jihoon murmurs. He sounds like he's trying not to be upset about it. “I was looking forward to meeting him—I had many questions.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Seungcheol grins. “Look—you can always write him a letter and send it to the north pole.”

Jihoon seems to consider that for a moment. 

****“How will I ensure it reaches him? As you said, he is a very illusive man when he wants to be, and I have been unable to ascertain his location.”

“Just you right the letter, and I’ll make sure he gets it." Seungcheol says with a magnanimous wave of his hand. "I know a guy, who knows a guy—who knows one of his elves. He'll make sure he gets it. Anyway—Santa isn’t here—but that doesn’t mean you can’t have presents.” He says, handing Jihoon a neatly wrapped parcel, complete with a bow and ribbon.

Jihoon frowns at the gift.

“Why is it not under the Christmas tree—as tradition dictates?” He says seriously, like opening his gift before it sits under the tree will be catastrophic, possibly for all of mankind.

“Fine.” Seungcheol huffs, stomping over to the tree and setting the parcel underneath. Only to pick it up again a second later and hand it to Jihoon. “There—Merry Christmas Jihoon. Hope you like it.”

Jihoon turns the package in his hand, regarding it as warily, as if it contains a _bomb_. He lights up from head to toe not a second later, practically vibrating with a happy glow. 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you Seungcheol.” He says, so damn earnestly. 

Seungcheol eyeballs him, “What? You haven’t even opened it yet! That’s just the wrapping paper!”

Jihoon's radiant glow snuffs out like a candle. He looks on thoughtfully.

“Oh.” He murmurs, caressing the shiny red wrapping paper like _that’s_ the gift.

Seungcheol sighs. He _knew_ he should have just wrapped it in a brown paper bag. Brown paper bags are not distracting.

Jihoon proceeds to torment Seungcheol as he starts to unwrap the parcel in an exceedingly slow and careful fashion, like he plans on keeping the packaging to moon over later. Finally, he opens the box and looks inside, then glances up, eyes wide.

“It’s a necklace. A Moonstone pendant.” Seungcheol explains after a drawn-out moment of silence.

Jihoon blinks at him, then casts his eyes back on the necklace in the box.

Seungcheol had worked painstakingly all week to cut and shape the rock into a smooth tear-drop shape, and his efforts were rewarded when the dull white slate caking the rock had given way to the iridescent, silvery-blue stone underneath.

It's beautiful, otherworldly glow reminds him, inexplicably, of Jihoon, except the Moonstone is not asking him a million questions and demanding hot chocolate. Of course, if he were a true romantic, he would say that the Moonstone pales in comparison to Jihoon’s glowing beauty.

But he isn’t—or, he would never admit to it—so he doesn’t.

Instead of threading the Moonstone through a silver chain like he’d originally planned—he decided to save time _and_ maintain the gems natural shape by opting for a more intricate wire wrap to suspend it. 

He’s pretty satisfied with the end result, although it’s Jihoon’s approval he craves right now and Jihoon doesn’t seem to be reacting much at all.

He’s quiet, and Jihoon’s _never_ quiet, and Seungcheol was afraid of this, afraid that his amateur attempts at jewellery making wouldn’t meet Jihoon’s ridiculous high standards, so he adds hastily, “It was my first time making Jewellery!”

Jihoon runs the tip of his index finger across the belly of the stone, “You—you _made_ this?”

Seungcheol puffs out his chest proudly. “Uh, in a sense. I can’t exactly step out to the shops and buy you something like normal people do on Earth, so I used what I had. I picked up the raw form of the stone from a trip back on Earth, and I used my tools to cut and shape the rock into a more _workable_ shape. I was afraid I’d damage the stone by drilling a hole for the chain, so I designed the wire wrapping to suspend it instead. The gem’s a Moonstone. It’s supposed to symbolise balance and divinity, and some wackos back on Earth believe it can _soothe_ emotions and has healing properties. I don’t really believe in any of that crap—but I thought it was.... _pretty_ …..and the way the light refracts of the different layers is pretty captivating and ….ethereal—like _you_.”

Something flickers deep within Jihoon's eyes. “You think I look pretty and ethereal?”

“Well—yeah.” Seungcheol says, awkward. He deliberately fixes his eyes on the pendant and says, “I mean—have you _seen_ you? What with the blue eyes and white hair and general inhuman glowing abilities. You’re pretty much the definition of ethereal and—” He swallows thickly. “ _Pretty_.”

He risks a look at Jihoon.

Jihoon is staring at him, with an expression serious enough to put Seungcheol on high alert. 

He’s regretting going out on a limb here. He should have just given Jihoon a roll of tinfoil and saved himself this awkwardness. At least tinfoil would have guaranteed a positive reaction.

He clears his throat—anything to break the silence—and says, “If you like I can--"

“No,” Jihoon cuts him off, clutching the box as if he’s afraid Seungcheol is going to jerk it away. “It’s mine!”

Warmth floods through Seungcheol, and to keep himself from turning into a giant sticky pot of treacle, he grins and says, “I wasn’t going to take it away. I was just going to help you put it on.”

Jihoon’s defensive posture eases slightly. “Put it— _on_?”

“It’s a pendant. You’re supposed to wear it around your neck.” Seungcheol explains. “Here—let me.”

Hesitantly, he fishes out the pendant from the box, then steps behind Jihoon and drapes it around his neck. The pendant is just long enough for the stone to nestle intimately in the hollow of Jihoon’s throat, and it’s adularescence seems to intensify, cloudy blue sheen taking on a luminous teal glow when it rests below Jihoon’s collarbones. 

There's a strange expression on Jihoon's face when Seungcheol steps back around to face him. He looks lost, confused, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Say something.” Seungcheol adds, desperately, because this new quiet Jihoon is starting to freak him out.

“I don’t know the human word to describe how I am feeling.” Jihoon says simply.

Seungcheol stares at him, a pinch between his eyebrows. “Is it a good or bad feeling?”

Jihoon gawps at him, as if totally flummoxed. “It’s good, of course! You have gifted me something truly rare and beautiful. Something I have _never_ been gifted before, and you made it specifically for me and my tastes. There is no word in your language, or any human language in fact, to describe my current emotional state. The closest is—”

Jihoon proceeds to yelp like a dolphin on an acid trip.

“What the fuck!” Seungcheol hisses, covering his ears.

Jihoon stops screeching only to say, “That is how your gift makes me feel Seungcheol. Extreme happiness!” 

“Okay, okay—you like the gift, message received. Please stop screaming.” Seungcheol laughs, the last of the tension draining out of his body.

Jihoon thankfully stops screaming, then makes a noise as if he's just remembered something and rushes back into the bedroom. When he returns, he's holding a small parcel, and presses it into Seungcheol’s hands, saying—“I suppose you’ll want this now.”

Seungcheol feels the weirdest clenching sensation just below his diaphragm as he studies the parcel, because Jihoon’s attempt at wrapping is the cutest shit he’s ever seen. The parcel is the size of his palm, but Jihoon seems to have used an entire fucking roll of Sellotape to secure the damn thing. He’s tacked a bunch of paperclips on it too, like that would make the plain white A4 paper he’s used to wrap it with, more _festive_ or something.

“Stellar job with the wrapping Jihoonie.” Seungcheol chuckles.

Jihoon pouts. "I don't have much experience with wrapping things, I was attempting something creative."

Of all the phrases you should probably worry about coming out of Jihoon's mouth 'I was attempting something creative,' has to be somewhere near the top. Though the parcel hasn't tried to burn a hole through the ship’s hull yet, or clone him while he sleeps.

Seungcheol's going to consider that a plus.

“It’s uh, very creative.” He says, ruffling Jihoon’s hair. “Well done.”

Jihoon looks up at him, disappointment writ on his face.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand it, can’t stand seeing it.

“Ah, _hey_ —what’s with the sad face?”

“I fear what I have got you is dull in comparison to what you have gifted me. I don’t think you will like it.” Jihoon says, shaking his head sadly.

“Don’t say that—I’m sure I’ll love it.” Seungcheol says, unwrapping his present with an appropriate level of exuberance, pleased smile fixed in place.

The endless Sellotape and paper give way to reveal a nondescript box. With a steadying breath and a mental script for grateful gushing at the ready, he pulls off the top of the box.

His Stepford smile drops away like a stone.

Nestled in between folds of paper, is a small metal cylinder.

Seungcheol frowns at it a minute, and then asks, “Uhm—What is it?”

“It is a tissue regenerative diode implant of my own design. Once connected to your central nervous system it will alter the rate at with your body tissue ages and enhances its regenerative properties. Given the right conditions, it should allow you to live indefinitely.”

Seungcheol’s smile spreads of its own accord. “Wait—what? Did—did you just gift me _immortality_?”

Jihoon sighs. “Yes. It’s a very dull present. I am sorry. But my species lives for an exceptionally long time compared to yours, and the thought of your departure from this plane of existence saddens me.” He murmurs. 

He looks so open, a touch nervous, that it takes every ounce of Seungcheol's self-control not to crush him into a hug right there, or possibly melt into the floor. He's not sure which would be worse for his ego.

After carefully returning the regenerative cylinder _whatever_ to its box, he reaches over to give Jihoon an awkward one-armed hug.

“Thank you Jihoonie. It’s a very sweet gift.”

Jihoon smiles up at him. “Would you like me to implant it now?”

“Ahh—how about later. Maybe after dinner.” Seungcheol hedges, squirrelling the box away.

* * *

 _“Seungcheol—help._ I am in pain.” Jihoon groans.

He’s lying on his side on the couch, head pillowed on the bend of one elbow, his other hand slung over his eyes. He does look like he’s in pain, but there’s not much Seungcheol can do for him now. He can’t risk poisoning his Alien biology with any human medication, so he settles for stroking his hair soothingly—hoping it will help ease the discomfort.

“It’s okay—shhh. I’m sorry.”

“Apology unaccepted. It hurts.” Jihoon says, in tones of agony.

Seungcheol has honestly heard men sound less pained after taking a shot to the kneecap. He takes a seat on the edge of the couch and drifts a hand up Jihoon’s side gently. “I know—I know. But I did tell you to pace yourself Jihoonie.”

Jihoon makes another very small, very pained sound. “I could not. And now I am suffering the consequences. I am _dying_.”

Seungcheol fights back a bark of hysterical laughter, “Drama queen.”

Jihoon peeks out from under his arm to frown at him. “Why are you not also in pain?”

“Cause I’m bigger than you. My metabolism is faster, and maybe—just maybe, because I didn’t eat my weight in roast potatoes.” Seungcheol offers.

For such a skinny bastard, Jihoon sure can pack away a truly impressive amount of food. And now he’s making sure the entire Galaxy knows that’s he’s suffering for it. Of course he wouldn’t listen to Seungcheol earlier when he told him to _put down the fucking fork_ , too busy making pornographic faces over every mouthful to take much notice.

There’s really no reasoning with him sometimes.

“But they were so delicious, I could not help myself— “ Jihoon mutters. He heaves an enormous, put-upon sigh and lifts the hem of his T-shirt. “Now look what’s happened,”

His shoulders and elbows and hipbones are all slimness and sharpness, but his stomach has the most delicious little curve to it now.

“Woah,” Seungcheol leans over and rests his hand over the slight protrusion there, unfamiliar and strangely fascinating. “That’s—that’s one hell of a food baby.”

Jihoon’s face twists into an indignant expression that Seungcheol interprets to mean: _What the fuck did you just say?_

“A food baby.” Seungcheol repeats, rubbing a gentle circle against his belly. “When you eat so much it makes you look _pregnant_.”

“Oh.” Jihoon smiles and catches his lower lip between his teeth. He rests his own hand over the small swell of his stomach lightly, then looks up at Seungcheol through his lashes. “It’s your baby.”

Seungcheol actually chokes on air because _what the fuck._

It takes him a minute to orientate himself and point an accusing finger at Jihoon. “Listen, I know Christmas is all about miraculous conceptions, but _you’re_ the one who insisted on seconds. I just cooked. That’s not my baby.”

There’s a sneaky light dancing in Jihoon's eyes that suggests he knows _exactly_ what he’s making Seungcheol think, and enjoying the hell out of it. It fades a moment later when he shifts on the couch and the effort to move that little bit has him groaning in discomfort.

“I’m so full. How do I make the pain stop?” He whines.

“With your hummingbird metabolism, it’ll be gone before you know it. But you can always sleep it off.” Seungcheol tells him, smoothing down his T-shirt.

“We have not yet reached the allocated period of sleep. It seems illogical to sleep now, when there are so manty traditions left to partake in.” Jihoon says flatly, though he seems perfectly content to drowse on the couch.

Seungcheol shrugs, “Have a nap then. It’s Christmas tradition to nap after dinner—helps you digest.”

Jihoon considers this.

"Okay," he decides at length. Then: “But you must carry me to the bed, seeing as I am currently incapacitated.”

Seungcheol would have to be terribly inattentive not to see that suggestion coming a mile away.

“I must—must I?” He echoes.

Jihoon lifts his brows in agreement, a smile curving his lips. “Yes.” He even has the audacity to add, “Take responsibility for the food baby you have impregnated me with.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but resigns himself to the inevitable and scoops Jihoon off the couch.

* * *

Even though he’s eaten approximately his own body weight in plate-sized portions and his digestive system should be protesting any sort of movement, Jihoon can only keep still for so long.

He naps for an hour, then emerges with his crumpled Christmas ‘Research Strategy’ list—several of the points already crossed off.

“We must watch a Christmas Movie—or my research will not be complete.”

Seungcheol, who has spent the better part of the last hour cleaning the kitchen, glares at him balefully. He’s running on 3 hours of sleep and has soap suds in his hair and wants nothing more than a hot shower and a handjob—but the Christmas Tree in the corner is giving off a cheerful glow, and he’s had enough to drink that lazing companionably in front of a movie or two feels perfectly entertaining.

So with a bowl of microwaved popcorn, they retire to the rec room to watch the best Christmas Movie of all time. Die Hard.

“Forget what anyone else has told you. Forget what you might even have read online. Die Hard is the _undisputed_ , best Christmas Movie of all time, okay.” Seungcheol tells Jihoon during the opening credits.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose disagreeably. “My research into the topic suggested that Home Alone—”

“No.” Seungcheol interjects sternly, because he refuses to allow Jihoon to watch it, refuses to give his Alien any crazy ideas about how to booby-trap the station with tarantulas and paperclips and mugs of hot cocoa.

Home Alone is a veritable _disaster_ waiting to happen.

“As you wish. I cede to your good judgement on this occasion,” Jihoon says, like he's some kind of magnanimous overlord instead of _really obnoxious_.

“Good.” Seungcheol nods, ramping up the volume, and before long they’re settled on the couch, a foot apart, making fun of Alan Rickman’s accent.

Twenty minutes into the movie, Seungcheol almost sends the bowl of popcorn flying when Jihoon climbs into his lap without preamble. 

“You’re like a cat. You know that?” Seungcheol tells him, as the Alien presses his nose into his neck, hunting for warmth. “Cat’s do this—they just climb into people’s laps and expect warmth and attention. You’re an alien cat.”

“Hmm,” Jihoon murmurs into his throat, where his face is pressed contentedly. He sounds amused. “I have studied cat’s briefly in my analysis of human/animal interactions. Cats are intelligent and resilient creatures on Earth, and have been worshipped as God’s by many ancient human civilisations. Therefore—I approve of this comparison.”

“So, will you purr if I pet you I wonder?” Seungcheol suggests, and he can't resist grinning at the thought.

Jihoon surprises him by smiling back, one soft curve of mouth, “My species do not possess the correct physiology to vocalize a purr. But, you are welcome to _try_.”

Seungcheol doesn’t really know what to say to that. So eventually he starts stroking a hand over the back of Jihoon’s head, the hair short on the nape of his neck. There’s no purring, of course, but there’s plenty of glowing.

 _Happy_ , golden yellow glowing.

Possibly the advanced Alien species _equivalent_ of purring? Yeah, definitely. 

Seungcheol snacks on a handful of popcorn and realizes that a) He’s got a glowing Alien in his lap, nuzzling him b) he’s totally okay with it.

So fucking weird.

"I don't understand," Jihoon says quietly, and for a minute Seungcheol’s not sure what he’s talking about, but Jihoon's watching the TV.

"Oh, he's trying to get the cop’s attention. He did that on purpose, to get the police to the building," Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon nods, like he understands perfectly now.

Seungcheol thinks, hell, maybe TV is educational, Jihoon is learning how to stop a terrorist attack on a high rise building after all.

* * *

By the time the credits of the movie roll, they’ve both missed Bruce Willis saving the world by falling asleep.

Seungcheol must have moved in his sleep, because he’s stretched lengthways on the couch now, with Jihoon sprawled over him, doing his best impersonation of a night light. Seungcheol rolls out from under him carefully to turn the entertainment panel off and carry the empty bowl of popcorn back into the kitchen.

When he returns, Jihoon sitting upright. He’s still half asleep, squinting out across the room at him, clothes skewed to hell and back from his nap. 

"Dude, come here," Seungcheol says with a laugh and he pulls Jihoon up by the loose edge of his shirt, which he pushes back into Jihoon's pants with a snort of amusement.

"You're gonna have to work out how to fix your own clothes eventually. Can’t have you walking around like a little Alien hobo.”

He fixes the swing of his Jihoon's t-shirt, watches the Alien watch him with that curious, intrigued expression. Like everything is so damn fascinating.

Finally, Seungcheol brushes the fringe from Jihoon’s face, pats down his hair where his errant locks are poking out in a million different directions.

It occurs to Seungcheol, all at once. That this really isn't the sort of thing you do for another guy. This isn't the sort of thing Seungcheol does for anyone. Or maybe even should. There's a line here and he's crossed it, without even thinking about it, and it doesn't matter that Jihoon doesn't see it, that he reacts as if it's not even there. Like it's not important.

Jihoon's not the only one that's been pushing at someone else's personal space. Seungcheol's been pushing too, pushing where Jihoon lets him, where he never refuses him, or protests, or tries to stop him.

Like it's his right.

Like he _belongs_ there.

And God help him, sometimes Seungcheol thinks maybe he wants to belong there.

He forces himself to pull his hands away, and takes a steadying breath, before dimming the lights in the rec room. He turns to lead the way out of the room, only for Jihoon to halt him with fingers around his wrist.

“Uh—something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, eyebrows jumping with surprise.

He can’t be sure, but he think’s Jihoon is blushing.

“Nothing. I just wanted to thank you Seungcheol. You have worked tirelessly to include me in this tradition of yours, and it has been a very pleasant experience for me. I know I am not the easiest person to cohabitate with, yet you continuously make adjustments to your life to provide me comforts. I—I appreciate it, truly.”

Seungcheol feels a decidedly warm and fuzzy sensation fill his heart—not that he’ll ever share that particular cliché out loud, but the soft happiness is there, nonetheless.

“You’re welcome Jihoonie. I’m glad you enjoyed it, and hey, maybe you can visit Earth one day and finish everything on your list.” He points out, and then wonders why, because suggesting Jihoon visits Earth is almost certainly a bad idea. “We can go to a Christmas market, and we can go ice skating and have a snow ball fight—”

There’s a pause, where Seungcheol realises he automatically said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’, and panics a little, before chancing a look at Jihoon.

Jihoon’s smiling slightly, completely unconcerned. “—and kiss under the mistletoe?” He adds curiously.

Seungcheol decides that's pretty much an opening if he's ever heard one, so he should stop being a bitch and just take it.

“We don’t need mistletoe to kiss Jihoon.” He says, in a voice that sounds rougher than usual.

Jihoon's eyes widen slightly in bewilderment, but then he frowns, a deep frown that looks conflicted, uncomfortable. “The tradition explicitly states that we _do_.”

"True but, some traditions are _worth_ breaking." Seungcheol stops, not entirely sure if he's even making sense, or how to phrase what he wants to say. "We could kiss—if you wanted to try it."

It sounds nothing like the offer it was supposed to be. Strange and awkward, like he's forced to leave the words out there but doesn't care about the answer.

Which he does. But he thinks he's gotten far too good at pretending he doesn't care about things when he does.

Jihoon looks honestly surprised, but by the time Seungcheol's re-thought whether it's a good idea or not he's already stepping closer, within arm’s reach.

“I want to.” He says quietly, and Seungcheol loses all his breath in one go.

It takes him three tries to get it back.

"You ever kissed someone before? On the lips?" Seungcheol asks.

He's fully expecting an 'of course,' some sort of amusement, maybe a dig about how Jihoon’s species invented kissing and how they’ve evolved to kiss with their minds or something and how swapping saliva is grotesque and unnecessary. Instead Jihoon shakes his head, one careful movement that seems oddly innocent.

It throws Seungcheol for a second. And then it occurs to him exactly how _other_ Jihoon is.

No matter how relaxed he looks in his oversized regulation flight suit, he's still feeling his way around their world. He honestly seems at his least mystifying when Seungcheol just treats him like a person. Just some random person who's waltzed onto his station and is confused about things and doesn't quite know how to be human. That, at least, is easier than thinking about him as an Alien wanting to experience things for the first time.

"Alright," Seungcheol decides, He takes another step, closer, and lays a hand, strangely clinically, on Jihoon's shoulder. "I’m going to kiss you okay, but don’t bite me."

The Alien’s expression is suddenly intent, like he's watching everything, waiting with a curious air of expectation.

Seungcheol's not sure if that makes it easier or harder, but he doesn’t hesitate to lean down and tilt his head just so to press their lips together.

Jihoon’s mouth is cold, but it's soft under his own. It doesn't try and kiss him back, but it does tilt into him. He's all softness and give under the pressure. Like Seungcheol's welcome, more than welcome. Like maybe Jihoon has just been waiting for something like this.

The thought gives Seungcheol a warm feeling, and it just seems natural to press a little closer, sweep his tongue over Jihoon's lower lop. Jihoon makes a small, startled noise, his breath warm against Seungcheol’s mouth, and then it seems just as natural to part Jihoon's lips with his own and stroke their tongues together.

The gesture makes Jihoon go instantly tense; hardly the effect Seungcheol had been going for.

 _First kiss—_ Seungcheol thinks, and maybe it's that thought that makes him break the kiss, that forces him to pull away, mouth instantly colder, and strangely lost. He pulls back, rather abruptly, then tries, rather awkwardly, to remove his arm without being too obvious about it.

“Uh—how was that?”

Jihoon stands there quietly for a moment, a bit dazed, touching his fingers to his lips. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it, “It wasn’t that special.”

“Ah—hey.” Seungcheol gapes at him, torn between insult and amusement. “ _Rude_. It was your first time. I was _trying_ to be gentlemanly. I didn’t wanna just shove my tongue--”

Jihoon waves him off easily, “My disappointment is no fault of yours I am certain. I understand now why you were so reluctant to exclude it from my initial research strategy, it seems to be an overrated tradition.”

Seungcheol feels vaguely insulted. No, no. He’s supremely insulted.

“You know what— _no_. C’mere. Let me try again.” He says, catching Jihoon by the waist and pulling him closer.

Second kisses should be slower. People that let you kiss them twice get kissed properly, so they know they made a smart decision. Seungcheol pushes a hand into Jihoon’s hair, uses it to tilt his head up and goes for it.

There is no awkwardness the second time, no hesitation; each touch of their lips leads easily, naturally to the next, as if they've been kissing each other forever.

Seungcheol likes the way Jihoon kisses him like he's surprised. He’s had a lot of kisses, but he's never had _'oh wow, what's happening?'_ kissing before and he thinks he could get used to it; the way it's uncertain one minute and then pushy the next, like it's all an experiment Jihoon's trying for the first time.

Seungcheol wants to make it good for him; he strokes his thumb along Jihoon's jaw, takes Jihoon's bottom lip between his, worrying it, and when he traces the line between Jihoon's lips with his tongue, Jihoon opens up to him eagerly.

Jihoon's hands are dangling hesitantly at his sides at first, but now they come up, flat against Seungcheol's chest. Not to push him away, but to fist into his shirt and drag him closer. He murmurs into Seungcheol’s mouth, wordless and encouraging sounds—presses closer, until Seungcheol wraps his arms around his back, feeling warm skin beneath the cotton T-shirt.

The heat between their bodies is and sudden, unexpectedly intimate. It spreads throughout Seungcheol’s body like a rampant virus that by the time they break apart, flushed and breathless, he’s half-way hard in his pants. 

“Well?” Seungcheol asks, playing with the fine hairs at Jihoon’s nape, “How was that?”

His other hand is on Jihoon’s waist, and he realizes he is rubbing a bare patch of skin where Jihoon’s shirt has hitched up. He wonders if he should stop, but he can’t bring himself to do so. Especially given that Jihoon doesn’t appear to want to lodge any kind of protest about the touching.

Jihoon blinks owlishly at him, once—twice, before his gaze turns dreamy and hooded, “It seems a little early to come to any conclusions just yet. We should probably do that again. For science—of course.”

“Yeah, sure—” Seungcheol smirks. “ _Science_.”

Seungcheol's all for experiments in the name of science.


	5. Cultural Appreciation

**DAY:799**

“Seungcheol?”

.

.

“Seungcheol?”

.

.

“Pay attention to me human!”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and gives in, against his better judgment.

He spins his chair, and glances over at Jihoon hovering awkwardly by the flight console.

The Alien has his hands tucked in his pockets, his weight tipping forward and back like a child who’s done something wrong and hasn’t quite worked up the courage to confess.

Seungcheol sighs in aggravation. “What is it Hoonie? What have you done now?”

“Nothing.” Jihoon huffs, then seems to realise he’s giving off guilty ‘ _I made the microwave sentient again’_ vibes and immediately adjusts his stance into something more _serious_. “I just wanted to ask if I may I borrow your I-Pod for non-destructive purposes. I know you don’t like it when I just _take_ things that belong to you, so I thought It wise to ask permission first.”

Seungcheol’s not buying the ‘non-destructive’ part of that sentence; he knows that serious and determined face too well. He doesn’t care what Jihoon claims, there will be research and destruction of household appliances in the very near future. He can _feel_ it.

“Are you gonna try and turn it into a gamma ray detector, a bomb or a heat seeking missile? _Again_.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “No. I require it for its _melodic tunes_.” He says simply, like it’s of vital importance. 

Seungcheol squints at him, doubtful. “ _You_ wanna listen to _music_?”

“Not exactly.” Jihoon shrugs, staring at Seungcheol’s shoulder rather than meeting his gaze. “I want to dance.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, sitting stiffly against the back of his chair. “Come again?”

Jihoon shifts on his feet, then moves to lean uncomfortably against the side of the flight console.

“I have been researching human dance styles recently, and I find the rhythm and fluidity of the movements both soothing and inspiring. I wish to emulate them to better understand this soundless form of communication.”

Seungcheol’s leaning forward before he realises it, curious and more than a little fascinated by this random turn of events.

“Really. Okay. What kind of dancing are we talking about here?”

“I can show you,” Jihoon offers, crossing his arms loosely in front of him. “But I will require music to demonstrate.”

Seungcheol shrugs, sticks his I-Pod in its docking bay on the flight console and hits play. A moment later the music starts, and then Jihoon—Instead of erupting into a beautiful modern interpretive dance that brings Seungcheol to tears and transcends time and space itself—starts _flossing_. 

Yes, that’s right. _Flossing_.

Oh, and not just any flossing—he’s flossing in the most business-like manner a person can floss. His face is pinched with focus, like this is serious business indeed and if he messes it up there will be dire consequences. Possibly for the entire galaxy.

“Do you like it?” Jihoon asks. And he’s _clearly_ been practicing, because he doesn’t lose his flossing rhythm. Not one bit.

Seungcheol continues to stare, in a way that he hopes doesn’t seem discouraging.

He’s not discouraged, he’s just trying to translate this into something that makes sense in his head.

“You’re—you’re _flossing_.”

Jihoon’s pinched expression smooths out with a shy smile, “Yes. It’s very captivating, isn’t it.”

Seungcheol chokes on his next inhale and coughs, blinking with surprise, “Nn-yeah—when _you_ do it, sure. Can’t say it was what I was expecting you to pull off, but it’s certainly…… _where did you learn this?”_

“On The YouTube.” Jihoon says, then frowns like he’s not sure if he got the phrasing right.

Of course, he did.

 _Of course,_ Jihoon’s been drawn to only the most viral dance trends.

“I have learnt other dance styles as well.” Jihoon tells him, a challenging look in his eyes.

Seungcheol not sure whether to bring a halt to Jihoon's frenzied enthusiasm for dancing, or to just go with it. But then, that's something of a constant now. An eternal conundrum. Always wondering how far to let Jihoon escalate the situation.

“Alright—” He hears himself say. “Go ahead. Show me.”

Jihoon’s next dance style isn’t something Seungcheol’s immediately familiar with. It seems to mostly consist of shuffling from side to side with the occasional ninety degree turn thrown in the mix, like he's attempting some weird new _line_ dance. Then Jihoon starts clapping and nodding his head and—

Wait a minute—Is he doing the _Electric Slide_?

Oh, Jesus. _He is._ And this isn’t even the Electric Slide _music_. Although, in all honestly, Seungcheol can’t say that would have made the dance any more appealing. 

Jihoon doesn't seem to agree. 

“This was a rather popular dance in the early 1980’s I gather.” He says, all cheer. 

“ _Yeah_ —” Seungcheol drawls, following his movements. He scratches his chin and tries to school his expression to something less transparently baffled, “I think someone tried to resurrect it back in 2180 too. It never really took off though.”

Jihoon frowns, dipping down to touch the floor. “That’s a shame. I think it’s _fascinating_.”

Seungcheol snorts into his hand, “That’s _one_ way to put it.”

He continues to watch with increasingly slack-jawed amazement as Jihoon dances his way around the flight deck.

One song ends and another begins, and the Electric Slide turns into Chubby Checker’s iconic _‘The Twist’_ , which not-so-smoothly transitions into the Village People’s ‘ _YMCA’_ , and then the ‘ _Macarena’_. Jihoon doesn’t seem to care what music’s playing—as long as there is a beat, he’s happily pulling out random dance moves from random time periods. He switches from ‘ _Whipping and Nae-naeing’_ to the ‘ _Robot’_ and then proceeds to _‘Crank that’_ all in the same damn song. Then finally Jihoon finishes off the whole insane dance segment by….. _twerking_.

And, _holy shit_ , does he give it a damn good go.

You wouldn’t expect such a small guy to have such a plump rump, but Jihoon’s got curves in just the right places and Seungcheol’s gaze is drawn to the hypnotic jiggle of his pert, round little--

“I see that you have been hypnotized by my spectacular dance moves.” Jihoon says, looking over his shoulder.

He’s still twerking his little heart out and Seungcheol actually, _actually_ —has to force his gaze up and _away_ from his ass to meet his gaze.

“No argument here.”

He can see Jihoon’s mouth twitch with amusement. “Can you dance?”

“Not really.” Seungcheol admits, feeling a little flustered even though he isn’t sure why. “I mean—when I’m in a club, I kind of _sway_ to the beat, but I’ve never been very demonstrative with my body. Not like….not like _this_ anyway.”

“But you are so muscular.” Jihoon argues, like that in some way should improve his chances. 

Seungcheol scoffs, “Doesn’t mean I can _dance_.”

Despite himself, he finds his gaze drawn to Jihoon’s jiggling butt again. 

He really wishes Jihoon would stop twerking…. and also _not_ at the same time.

It’s a damn good thing Central never installed any security cameras on the station, because he can imagine what an odd tableau this scene would make; Seungcheol lounging back in his flight seat while a member of an advanced Alien species twerks in his face.

 _Yeah_ , that would be amazingly bad out of context.

No. Scratch that. It’s amazingly bad _with_ context too. 

There is no context where this is appropriate. Or professional. But yet, it’s happening. It's barely been a few months and he's slowly forgetting what it's like to live somewhere where weird things _don't_ happen. Where he doesn’t keep getting 'involved' in things he doesn’t mean to.

He's fairly sure that he's caught in Jihoon's orbit and it's not exactly a stable one.

He really should stop looking.

Apparently his eyeballs don’t _agree_.

Jihoon, sadly, stops twerking all on his own when the music switches and a slow, relaxed waltz begins to fill the air.

“This music is not appropriate for dancing.” Jihoon huffs, staring at the I-pod like it has disappointed him in the most tragic way possible.

Although the choice of music didn’t seem to matter before, Elvis Presley’s _‘Can’t help falling in love’_ is evidently too slow, too _crooning_ for the viral dance styles Jihoon’s intent on demonstrating. Seungcheol can see him struggle to revive that unselfconscious energy he just recently revealed.

“Sure it is,” Seungcheol argues, “It’s just slow music. For _slow dancing_.”

Jihoon stares at him dubiously, like he thinks Seungcheol’s just made that up on the spot.

“Slow dancing?”

“Yeah, like—” Seungcheol stumbles out of his seat towards him. After a brief hesitation, he slides his arms around Jihoon’s waist and rests his hand on his lower back.

Jihoon blinks at the general vicinity of his chest, then slowly tips his head up. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

“Uh.” Seungcheol fumbles, not knowing how he’s supposed to respond to that. 

He looks steadily into Jihoon's eyes, hears the insistent pulse of hot blood thrumming in his veins, and croaks, “Do—do you _want_ me to kiss you?”

Jihoon looks confused, then quietly disappointed.

“This is the way you held me when we kissed. I thought you were going to do it again.”

There's a pause that's full of all the things Seungcheol wants to say, but can't - or can't work out how.

“I—I was just going to slow dance with you.” He finally clarifies awkwardly.

“Oh.” Jihoon smiles. “Okay.”

_Dammit._

Seungcheol mentally scolds himself for the lost opportunity. However, he can’t help the slight jolt that shoots through him when Jihoon’s hands slide up his chest to curl over his shoulders.

“Is—is this right?” Jihoon asks carefully.

Seungcheol tightens his grip and slowly pulls Jihoon a little closer, until there’s only a space of a breath dancing between them. “Yeah, yeah. That’s perfect.” The smell of Jihoon’s shampoo rushes into Seungcheol’s nose as their eyes lock awkwardly. After a moment Seungcheol forces himself to look away, gazing over Jihoon’s head as they begin to sway.

And really, swaying pretty much says it all. It’s not dancing by any means, but it’s easy and relaxed and Seungcheol finds he much prefers it like this, Jihoon in his arms, letting the music guide their bodies in a lazy rhythm.

“This is nice.” Jihoon murmurs after a moment. His voice is somewhere between serious and warm. It's a quirk that's pure _Jihoon_. 

“Yeah, it is.” Seungcheol breathes against his temple. 

Feeling a little braver, he lets his hands slide down the slope of Jihoon’s back to settle over his hips, then thinking, _to hell with it_ , he curves them around his ass. He feels Jihoon’s fingers twitch against his shoulders in surprise, before Jihoon slips his hands higher and laces his fingers at the back of Seungcheol’s neck. And suddenly, it’s not so innocent anymore. Not that any of this, really, none of this could have been classified as innocent to begin with. But now it’s something else entirely.

Jihoon is holding on to him now, _staring_ at him. Seungcheol can feel it, even though he point-blank _refuses_ to lower his eyes. He squeezes them shut instead, resisting the urge to tip his head just enough that the strands of Jihoon’s hair will brush against his cheek the way they do sometimes in the dark of night when he is half-asleep.

“I like this dance best.” Jihoon whispers, a smile evident in his voice.

A bubble of emotion—joy, relief and impossible affection—presses against Seungcheol's chest. He hides his own smile against the top of Jihoon’s hair and pulls him closer.

They come to a slow stop as the music fades into silence. Seungcheol lifts his head from where it had been resting against Jihoon’s, meets Jihoon's gaze ... and falters ever so slightly at the rapt attention he sees there.

“Uhm….”

Jihoon’s eyes dip shyly beneath long dark lashes. “Can we do it again?”

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh and nods, “Yeah, okay. Just let me….”

When he moves to turn the music back on, Jihoon tightens his grip on his neck, stopping him. 

“We don’t need music,” Jihoon says softly, stepping forward so his chest bumps against Seungcheol's. His expression is strangely hesitant, almost shy, but his eyes shine as clearly as ever, and Seungcheol thinks it's disappointing that nowhere in the world is there a sky as perfectly blue as Jihoon's eyes.

Smirking, Seungcheol pulls Jihoon flush against him and they begin swaying together again. He doesn’t know what beat they are following, if Jihoon has a song in his head or if he just likes the gentle, soothing motions, but Seungcheol holds him and moves with him anyway.

Without a song there is no real end point, but Seungcheol finds he really doesn’t mind.

* * *

**DAY:804**

Seungcheol gets roped into Jihoon’s next experiment, some human behavioral study, because he's awake, and within a fifty-foot radius. Although he suspects there could have been a handful of willing participants and Jihoon still would have found some exclusionary measure to annoy him and only him. It has to be a morbid sort of curiosity that has Seungcheol going along with it though. He's not sure what else it could be. He doesn't actually know what the basis of the experiment is because that will apparently 'skew the results’, but it mostly consists of picking out numbers and patterns and trying to remember things Jihoon shows him. 

It seems innocent enough, and not one of those horrible psychological experiments that scar a person for life. At least, it better _not_ be. But he's still weirdly afraid of messing it up though, so sits patiently as Jihoon shines the tricorder in his eyes and sticks temperature probes all over his chest. 

"The fact that I let you live here with me doesn't give you free rein to experiment on me, just for future reference." He tells Jihoon during a quiet interlude.

"I'm not experimenting on you," Jihoon offers, over the data-pad he's balancing on his arm, "I'm just using your data to confirm earlier findings. You will not be subjected to anything invasive, for now," He says without looking at him.

Seungcheol frowns at him, because he has no idea whether that's a joke or not.

"Wow. Thanks. _That's reassuring."_

“No need to thank—” The look Jihoon throws him is something strange and unique to him. “Wait. Was that…..”

Seungcheol nods sagely. “Yeah, Jihoon—that was sarcasm.”

Jihoon smiles, quietly pleased. “I believe I am getting better at detecting it.”

Seungcheol's tempted to reply sarcastically, just to test him, but decides to save it for another day.

“Now. For my final assessment.” Jihoon says, stepping into the empty floor space next to Seungcheol’s chair and unzipping his flight suit. 

It drops in large white folds, ends up piled over, and between Jihoon's bare feet. Brighter than the tiles around it, and now…..now Jihoon is exactly the sort of naked that Seungcheol has been carefully avoiding thinking about since he laid him down on the med bay table all those weeks ago.

Seungcheol’s eyes can’t decide what to look at first. His opportunities to look at naked people have been few and far between lately, and Jihoon really is very naked. It's kind of difficult to _not_ look. Because it's only natural to wonder, after all, to see how people are put together under their clothes. He doesn't exactly have the observational powers Jihoon possesses, but it's hard not to focus on...on _everything_.

Jihoon’s body is gorgeous; narrow and artistic, every line of him slim but masculine.

 _Definitely_ masculine.

There’s no denying that thing between his legs is a dick. Seungcheol probably shouldn’t be staring at it _quite_ so intently, but there’s just too much naked skin in his direct line of sight, and he’s been curious for so long he just can’t help himself.

It’s official now, no more curiosity. Jihoon has a dick—a cute little cock; not that Seungcheol will be saying that to his face anytime soon. And, _woah_ , no hair at all?

That’s…that’s…

Does he _manscape_?

Alienscape?

Is that even a _thing?_ That sounds more like a computer game actually. 

Probably not though. His species are probably born that way. Or maybe grown that way; skin so smooth and milky you could drink it in. 

Seungcheol suddenly feels a little too warm. Warmer still when Jihoon himself seems almost aggressively unconcerned with his own nudity. Which just makes it worse somehow. There's nothing overtly sexual about the pose he’s holding, but Seungcheol's brain doesn't seem to _care_. He's never wanted to reach out and touch something so much in his life

“As I suspected.” Jihoon announces, recording _something_ on his data-pad. He speaks the words as though he knows _exactly_ what Seungcheol is thinking. Maybe he _does._

Seungcheol settles for an irritated tone of voice, because it's a comfortable, familiar emotion that isn't distracted by nudity. “Suspected _what_?”

Jihoon scribbles something onto his tablet before reaching for his biometric sensor. “Your excitable reaction to my nudity.” He answers simply.

The very tips of Seungcheol’s ears heat, but he doesn’t look away. “I imagine my reaction would have been the same for anyone else subjected to sudden and extreme nudity.” He protests, trying not to sound defensive. 

Jihoon sets the data-pad aside to pull the flight suit back on, slipping it over his shoulders smoothly and zipping it up. “Perhaps.” His voice is blandly even. His expression as cool and steady as ever as he reclaims his data-pad and gestures toward the door. “That will be all for now.”

Relief and disappointment ricochet behind Seungcheol's ribs, and he grits his teeth, rising from his chair. He leaves as quickly as he can manage without looking too desperate to get away, but even without turning his head, he can feel Jihoon's eyes follow his every retreating step.

He sets aside his embarrassment for the moment; there will be time to feel truly mortified about this later. In private.

It won't stop him from wanting things though. Things he has no business wanting from an advanced Alien species.

Honestly, sometimes Seungcheol's entire life is so fucking unfair.

* * *

**DAY:805**

Seungcheol’s been repairing the same panel for the last two hours.

It’s not that it’s extensively damaged or anything, it’s just that he’s working slower than usual.

A lot slower.

If he’s being completely transparent, it’s because he needs the breathing space, _away_ from Jihoon, to think things through.

And Jihoon’s given him a lot to think about recently.

It occurs to him, over the glow of a blow torch and with a disturbing lack of fanfare, that there's the slight possibility he may be sexually attracted to his Alien visitor.

Which is just…..

Wow. 

Seungcheol's never been interested in another man before.

Well, not really. There's always been the understanding that one drunken night of experimentation would be the closest he ever got to bisexuality. But he's most assuredly not drunk _now_ and the blackness of space will forgive him if he's a little confused. Because he thinks he may be seriously considering offering Jihoon his body for experimentation in a sexual nature. Which feels like the sort of huge life altering decision he shouldn’t be forced to make while fixing radiation panels.

It's slightly more worrying that he's suddenly wondering what sex with Jihoon would be like. He's sure he's not allowed to think things like that, for so many sensible reasons. There's a vast world of difference between being in Jihoon’s orbit and actually being _involved_ with him, and he doesn't even know if Jihoon has sex, or whether he finds it all totally unnecessary and beneath him.

Seungcheol's forced to wonder if you can have an entire relationship without ever having sex. Because it feels like that's what they're doing, and he's sure you're supposed to _notice_ when things like this happen. You're supposed to notice when you cross the line from visitor to room-mate, room-mate to friend, friend to...something else?

The worst part is, he thinks he may actually be to blame for some of it. Times where other people—n _ormal people_ —would have put their foot down and not let a small Alien sleep in their bed, watch them shower and climb into their lap whenever they felt like it.

 _Yeah_. There is a distinct possibility that this is all his fault.

* * *

**DAY:809**

They’re spending the evening doing something normal for a change, and watching re-runs of old documentaries on the datapad. At _Jihoon’s_ insistence, of course. Because as much as he loves binging on episodes of Spongebob SquarePants, he still insists that his interactions with human technology should be _educational_. So recently it’s been a weird toss-up between _National Geographic_ or _Nickelodeon_ , and frankly, Seungcheol would rather sit through 45 minutes of lions sprinting in slow motion, then another episode of that yellow porous freak.

Even if the documentary spends _way_ too long filming the mating scenes, because _woah_ —he’s fairly sure that’s more than he needed to learn about Lions to last him his whole lifetime.

The awkwardness on screen does pose a few questions though. Questions he’s been _meaning_ to ask. Questions that are probably rude to ask too, but it's not as if Jihoon hasn't asked him any number of invasive, intimate questions during their current, strange friendship. And he hasn't always balked at answering them either. So it's only fair, he thinks.

“We don’t really talk about this—but I’ve been meaning to ask you something Jihoon,” Seungcheol begins.

Jihoon looks up at him through his hair, and Seungcheol leaves his expression as bland as he can manage. “How do your species _reproduce_?”

"Ah, well," Jihoon begins, making a face like he finds the whole affair impossibly tedious. "We have many ways. Some you might be familiar with, while others are more advanced to minimise distractions.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow, “Distractions, huh? So—even with all your _developments_ , your species still do the horizontal monster mash then?”

Jihoon's tiny noise of amusement suggests he's reading Seungcheol's mind again. “Humans have many words to describe one act, it’s fascinating. More fascinating than the act itself I think.”

“Wait. So— _you_ have no interest in sex?” Seungcheol asks. He's fairly sure he'd like to know, because he's never met anyone who doesn't have sex because they genuinely have no interest, rather than through lack of opportunity, or personal choice.

“No.” Jihoon frowns like he’s angry Seungcheol came to the wrong conclusion. Honestly, Jihoon gets mad at him for flailing around in the dark, but he's usually the one standing right next to the light switch.

“I wouldn’t go that far. My species are still conditioned to desire intimacy, but as life force that seeks technological advancement and the pursuit of knowledge, we have more useful purposes for our bodies than seeking pleasure.”

Seungcheol can't relate to that at all, but Jihoon has a way of making it not sound half as crazy as it should.

“That’s depressing.” He says without really thinking about it.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, “It is _not_. I am not experiencing depression. I am satisfied with my research and my life exploring the universe. I do not have sufficient data to conclude that I have no interest in sexual encounters, but I am perfectly content without ever having one.”

Seungcheol rolls his head towards him, eyes fixing on his face. He inhales, sharply, and says, “Is that some obscure scientific way of saying you’re a _virgin_?”

Jihoon blinks at him, in that way he does when he feels he's answered a question already and doesn't understand why Seungcheol needs him to repeat himself.

 _“I don’t have sufficient data.”_ He repeats anyway. Rather than accuse Seungcheol of not listening the first time, or of being an idiot.

“So, you’re a virgin then.” Seungcheol summarises, since Jihoon doesn’t seem to want to. “That actually explains a lot.”

He can tell he's scored a point because Jihoon looks uncomfortable and annoyed. “Like what?”

“Like that stick up your ass.”

“The what?” Jihoon gasps, checking between his legs like there may in fact be one lodged up there.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, “It’s a figure of speech. Look—I don’t doubt that you’re happy now. I just think you could possibly be happier if you _expanded your horizons_. I can’t help but feel like you’re missing out.”

Jihoon shakes his head. "I am not missing out. I have studied the sexual mating habits of many species, including your own, and I carried out a brief study-"

“It’s not really the same.” Seungcheol interrupts, earning a glower.

He can't tell if Jihoon's more annoyed about the interruption or the insinuation that he's lacking valuable data in any sort of intellectual arena.

Seungcheol sighs. "All I'm saying is— _don't knock it ‘til you've tried it."_

Jihoon huffs, throwing his arms out. “Since you’re so openly endorsing it, am I right to conclude that you’re a paragon of sexual prowess?” He mutters and it's obvious he's irritated now.

“Well—" Seungcheol smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Let’s just say—If they gave out PHD’s, I wouldn’t need one.”

Jihoon frowns, confused.

“Because I already _have_ a PHD.” Seungcheol elaborates.

He really hates that he has to elaborate at all, but Jihoon’s brow furrows deeper.

“They award doctorates for sexual expertise in your world?”

Seungcheol makes a face, “No, _no_ —it’s a play on the acronym. P-H-D—stands for _pretty huge dick.”_

Jihoon rolls his head towards him. “And to think I thought you were funny once.”

“You know what—back on earth, that would have been hilarious. I’m really funny and loveable back home.” Seungcheol huffs, turning away.

* * *

**DAY:812**

Every morning Seungcheol tosses a coin to determine whether he’ll hit the gym or run laps around the lower deck of the station. The gym wins the toss up today, and he spends a solid hour alternating his work-out between weights and cardio.

When he strolls into the mess hall after, he discovers Jihoon's awake and has invaded the kitchen table, half in and half out of his too-big hoodie. It's as if even getting that on straight had been too much trouble this morning.

Not content with stealing Seungcheol’s clothes, the petite Alien has also seen fit to hijack his data-pad again, hot-chocolate mug leaving wet rings perilously close to the screen. 

"Dude, if you get hot chocolate on my data-pad again I'm going to spank you.” Seungcheol warns as he passes, “Also, I'm going to start rationing your internet hours."

Jihoon looks genuinely distressed about the threat to restrict his internet hours, even though Seungcheol’s been using the same threat for weeks and failing to go through with it. 

“I am conducting important _research_.” He pouts.

Seungcheol snorts something doubtful as he opens the fridge; he knows that Jihoon's own personal idea of what's _important_ will forever remain tragically skewed from everyone else’s. “Yeah—but you say that about everything. Doesn’t mean you should be allowed to sit in front of the internet all day. It’s not healthy.”

Jihoon makes a noise of vague, reluctant agreement, but doesn't make any attempt to stop staring at the screen.

Seungcheol leaves him be for a while as he debates between cooking up some breakfast now, or waiting till after his shower. Deciding on the latter, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge door and nudges it shut.

“You should come hit the gym with me sometime. It’d be good for you.” He announces, approaching the table.

“The gym is _hazardous_.” Jihoon grinds out, though it's more a petulant denial than a truth.

Seungcheol drops into the chair nearest to him and uncaps a bottle of water. “You’re just saying that because you got trapped under the barbell. I told you not to lift weights without me spotting you, even though you didn’t _actually_ have any weights _on_ the bar when you got trapped, it’s still important that someone spots you.”

Jihoon throws Seungcheol a bitchface to rival all bitchfaces over the top of his data-pad instead of refuting that, then drops his gaze again when Seungcheol just grins back at him.

There’s something unusual about his silence this morning, something cagy. Usually when Seungcheol makes an appearance, Jihoon abandons what he’s been working on and corners him with a million and one questions about whatever inane ‘human’ topic has taken his interest that day. The fact that he stays there, watching the screen so intently without so much as raised eyebrow has Seungcheol’s curiosity piqued.

Seungcheol rocks back on his chair, just a little, tips sideways to see if he can catch the edge of Jihoon's screen. It’s too far away and too blurry for Seungcheol to be able to tell what he's doing, so he asks, “What _are_ you looking at Snowflake?”

“I have decided to take your advice Human.” Jihoon says casually, then waits an extra beat, just long enough for Seungcheol to get a decent mouthful of his water. “I am watching pornography.”

The water ends up sprayed all over the table and, judging by the gasping-choking noise Seungcheol makes, completely the wrong way down his throat.

There's a long period of hacking, coughing, some raspy breathing and then, finally, Seungcheol manages to croak, “You’re _what_?”

“I’m watching pornography.” Jihoon repeats flatly, like he doesn’t see what the fuss is.

“Okay—but _why_?” Seungcheol can't resist asking, he just can't.

“You _did_ suggest I learn more about human sexual practices, and according to my research, the internet is the best place for such a topic.” Jihoon adds helpfully without looking away from the screen. “It does strike me as odd how these encounters begin: two people with no social connection whatsoever meet under peculiar circumstances—they speak suggestively to each other, quickly discard their clothing and begin engaging in intercourse on various pieces of equipment not intended for that purpose. Occasionally a third person will stumble upon them and join in. How _strange_.”

Seungcheol stumbles out of his seat and takes two steps forward, trying to look like he's in no way peeking over Jihoon's shoulder. A few seconds later he reels away from the screen and throws Jihoon a horrified look, because this isn’t just your run of the mill, _‘I just met you and this is crazy, but please bend over’_ porn—this is impure, filthy, obscenely graphic, deliberately rough, just for the sake of it, stick-your-tongue-everywhere-it's-not-supposed-to-go porn. 

“Okay—so you’re watching pretty hardcore stuff here Jihoon.” He gestures, pointing at the screen. “I feel obligated, on behalf of humanity, to point out that is _not_ how people usually go about having sex. Porn is heavily rehearsed. It’s like...sexual entertainment...for the _viewer_.”

Jihoon stares at him sideways, in that completely bewildered sort of way he has that shouldn’t be adorable at this moment. “But—they _are_ engaging in sexual acts.”

“Yeah—on top of a photocopier!” Seungcheol says through his teeth. “That never happens in real life.”

Jihoon's giving him a completely blank look that's so obviously lost.

On screen, a woman in high heels and a suit that is decidedly _not_ safe for work, starts stuffing her own fist up her ass while a man eats her pussy out. On top of a photocopier. _Honestly_ , the cliché of it all.

Seungcheol resists the urge to lean over Jihoon's shoulder again for a good twenty seconds. Then just can't help himself. “Yeah, okay—I know they’re actually having sex, but it’s all for show. Most people—most _normal_ people don’t fist themselves on a photocopier while their boss watches. I mean, look how empty that office is, how that guy’s suit doesn’t even fit him properly. It’s all clearly _staged_.”

“Oh.” Jihoon murmurs sadly. Then glares at Seungcheol’s ear. “You mean to say I have wasted all this time studying a false performance?”

Seungcheol’s eyes slide sideways. “How much of this stuff have you watched?”

Jihoon glares at the accusing glow of the screen for as long as it takes him to sigh out a whole breath. “37 hours and 48 minutes……This week.”

“ _Okay then_.” Seungcheol hears himself say.

There's a healthy dose of 'what the fuck' going on in his voice. But he's not sure if it's enough, if it could ever be enough. Because that might just be more porn than he’s watched his entire _life_.

Shaking his head, he drags a chair over and swivels the data-pad round.

Jihoon never clears the browser history, because he’s drained the battery too many times, sending hours of research into oblivion. So his entire porn site visit history is right there, displayed in the browser. And he’s been watching every cheesy porno under the sun apparently; _‘Clear and pleasant danger’_ , _‘Midsummer’s Night Cream’_ , _‘Buffy the Vampire Layer’_ , and even some movie called _‘Bat Dude and Throbbin’._

Seungcheol scrolls down, and down, and _down_ some more.

Two pages later he's still scrolling past titles Jihoon’s clearly been watching in the pursuit of scientific research. Or perhaps… _personal_ interest?

If so, score one for 'genuinely interested' then.

Seungcheol is honestly surprised he’s taken the time to research all this. Which is why he's very glad Jihoon's not currently looking at him.

“I can’t believe you’ve just been sitting around watching porn for 37 hours Jihoon, and at breakfast too. People don’t usually watch porn over breakfast you know, porn’s a late night, seedy hour kind of thing that you do in the privacy of your room where nobody can judge you. At least you had the decency to mute the volume, but— _oh god_ —you’re not even browsing these sites incognito! Central must think I’m busting a permanent nut up here!”

“I am sorry.” Jihoon murmurs, and yeah, that's his guilty face alright, only this one's a little bit more disturbed by humanity than it usually is.

There's absolutely no way Seungcheol isn't going to laugh at that.

 _“I—can’t …believe—"_ He rasps our breathlessly. He’s laughing now, making noises he's fairly sure are unattractive and he doesn't even care.

“Why are you laughing?” Jihoon murmurs. His nostrils flare, always a bad sign. “I do not understand why this is so amusing.”

Seungcheol leans against the table and wipes a tear or mirth from the corner of his eye. “I’m just picturing you sitting here, watching porn and taking notes like it’s super serious research.” He takes a breath and then loses it again straight away and Jihoon's expression of offended irritation just makes it _worse._

"It's not funny, Seungcheol, stop laughing." Jihoon pouts.

Seungcheol's not sure he can. This is going to be funny forever. Forever. 

Jihoon continues to glare but there's a flare of embarrassment there now—a hint of colour flushing along the bridge of his nose. Through some miracle or divine intervention, Seungcheol’s laughter dies down and he drops into a chair huffing out something that might be the last of it. Save for a grin that just won't quit.

“I did not know this was unacceptable practice. I only wanted to learn.” Jihoon says, with a tired, almost angry sincerity.

Seungcheol reaches a hand out to squeeze the back of his neck. “ _I know, I know._ I guess there really isn’t another way for you to study sex outside of porn unless —”

_Unless we fucked._

Woah.

Where did _that_ come from?

_You know where. Don’t pretend like you haven’t--_

“How about—” Seungcheol interrupts his own line of thought before it takes shape—"We browse incognito, and I’ll show you some sites I like. That way I could point out what’s exaggerated and what’s not.”

“Okay.” Jihoon chirps, mood brightening visibly. “But can we watch sexual intercourse between two males? I have yet to find sufficient material on this, and it is what interests me the most.”

Seungcheol swallows thickly, and feels the weight in his groin in a way he hadn't really been concentrating on before.

“Good—” He croaks. “Good to know.”

Switching onto a private browser, as not to damage his reputation at Central any further, he picks at random from the selection of pages in the menu. It takes him four clicks to find something he likes. Something he wouldn’t mind watching himself and could probably, given the mood and present company, easily jerk off to himself.

Unfortunately, he has no control over the cheesy titles every porno movie just _must_ have, and cringes when _‘Four Weddings and a Twink’_ appears as the title screen. 

“What’s a twink?” Jihoon asks curiously, at the opening of the first scene. 

Seungcheol gives him a furtive once over, then forcefully drags his eyes back to the screen.

“You. _You’re_ a twink.”

“Oh.” Jihoon says, then smiles. He seems inordinately please by that.

* * *

**DAY:813**

Seungcheol almost, _almost_ regrets involving himself with Jihoon’s human sexual theory research, because now Jihoon’s following him around, asking questions like this is research opportunity that’s too good to pass up.

Some of the questions are easy enough to answer; foreplay, erogenous zones and post coital spooning; but most of them are bordering on obscene and Seungcheol finds himself reluctant to answer.

“I just don’t understand—” Jihoon's voice floats up from where Seungcheol’s completely out of sight inside an open maintenance hatch. “Why does the first male spread his ejaculate over the second male’s face? There can be no biological or functional reason for this. Unless there is some symbolic reason for the gesture, it strikes me as unnecessarily _wasteful_ act. Surely the seminal fluid could be put to better use?”

Seungcheol rubs the space between his eyes and sighs, loudly. He wonders if asking Jihoon nicely if he could come back and pester him tomorrow would work, because reassembling the primary communications array is hard enough even without _those_ type of questions bouncing around in his head. 

“I don’t know what to tell you Jihoon. Maybe it _is_ symbolic.”

“Symbolic in what way?”

Seungcheol crawls deftly out from the open hatch and levers himself down to the ground. “I don’t know—maybe it’s like an ownership thing? Painting someone with you cum _is_ pretty intimate, so maybe it’s a territorial gesture or something.”

Jihoon cocks his head to one side. “I see. Like how a dog urinates on a lamppost to establish the boundaries of its territory.”

Seungcheol grimaces inwardly, because as comparisons go—that’s not one he’s familiar with. Or comfortable with.

In fact, that comparison is all _wrong_.

“I don’t know if that’s a good comparison to make Jihoonie,” He says, reaching for his maintenance pad to initiate a diagnostic scan.

The computer helpfully informs him it will take somewhere around thirty-nine minutes, so Seungcheol sets it aside and twists his head round far enough to look at Jihoon, “But you know—not _every_ gesture has to be layered with meaning. Sometimes people do things spur of the moment. Jerking off all over a pretty guy’s face is pretty hot; the obscenity kind of adds to the experience. You know?”

Jihoon makes a face of puzzlement. “I’m afraid I do not.”

Seungcheol starts collecting the scattered array of components on the floor, hoping that will be the end of that. There’s only so many questions about sex he can handle when he’s not actually having sex himself, and isn’t likely to anytime soon. But Jihoon’s silence is still _inquisitive_ —so it’s not really surprising that he lingers as Seungcheol packs up his tools, then asks:

“In the movie we watched together, and the countless others I came upon, the twink, as you put it, is always the receiving partner. Why is that the case?”

After only a moment's hesitation, Seungcheol gives a helpless shrug. "I don't know, maybe it's a height thing, or a physical power thing, or maybe it's just whoever's twinkiest takes it up-" Seungcheol immediately decides that's not the best way to phrase it. "-ends up on the bottom. I...I really don't know. Like I said, I'm not exactly an expert."

Jihoon is still frowning, like it's complicated rocket science or something. Though what does Seungcheol know, maybe it is. Maybe all the top/bottom dynamic is bewildering to his species.

"So if I were to be...paired with you for instance-"

"Woah, what-" Seungcheol says abruptly, fumbling with his screwdriver. It drops to the floor and rolls away, and Jihoon follows its journey until it comes to a stop at his feet before carefully picking it up.

He hands it back to Seungcheol with a raised eyebrow. “You were saying?”

"Uhm, yeah—in that scenario, you would—” Seungcheol’s gone to that inappropriate place again. He makes a gesture, which he's fairly sure doesn't make it all better, then just settles for, “ _Bottom_.”

"Because I'm shorter than you," Jihoon states.

"Hmm, hmm" Seungcheol hums, because it's a safe and non-commital response if there ever was one for questions like this. 

_"And...twinkier?"_ Jihoon's clearly not quite as sure about that.

"Uh huh.”

"And the fact that my species are far more advanced, and could outwit yours both physically and intellectually, has no relevance on our positions?"

Seungcheol shakes his head, holds a hand up. "You don't trick people into having sex with you. That's weird and..wrong. It's supposed to be consensual. Both parties should want to be involved, so there's no reason to _outwit_ anyone."

Jihoon frowns confusion but seems to take the information on board. Though it's clear he's still waiting for some sort of clarification, and seriously Seungcheol’s kind of disturbed by the idea that anything he has to say about this topic might be recorded somewhere and studied by an advanced Alien race.

"Look, it's not like a _rule_ you have to follow Jihoon, it's just a porn cliché. In real life, people should just go with what they're most comfortable with. I'm sure some couples like to switch it up each time and take turns, and I’m sure there are plenty of big beefy guys out there who like the idea of a smaller dude topping.”

Jihoon gives him a careful once-over. “Are _you_ comfortable with that idea?”

“No. Wha—no. No.” Seungcheol chokes out, flushing.

“Why not?” Jihoon says, quirking an eyebrow.

Normally Seungcheol really enjoys Jihoon’s eyebrow quirk—under _normal_ circumstances it’s kind of weirdly endearing. But in _this_ situation, it’s just unnecessarily suggestive.

“Just. It’s a just my preference.” Seungcheol can't help but wonder whether giving Jihoon more information is ever a good thing, when he's proven already that he's so very good at using it against you. The fact that he can't seem to help it somehow makes it even more irritating. “I don't get with guys often, so when I do, I always feel like I need to be in control.”

Jihoon falls quiet. His protests pause, but Seungcheol has a feeling they have not ceased entirely.

"What?" he demands when the silence stretches too long. “You gonna call me repressed or something? Cause I’m not. I just know what I like.”

Jihoon frowns and shakes his head, “No. I have no grounds to state such things, especially considering I have no experience of my own. I just concluded that with an ass as fine as yours—you would be a very popular submissive partner. _More cushion for the pushin_ —or so to speak.”

Seungcheol hopes he's wearing a good incredulous face, because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

There's a curl of amusement to Jihoon’s mouth. No, not just amusement, something _darker._ Which is disturbing in ways Seungcheol doesn’t even have the brain power to process at the moment.

“That's it!” He snaps, trying to sound authoritative as he points his finger. “You’re not allowed to watch anymore porn.”

Jihoon pouts.

He actually pouts, which, on any other day, would be _hilarious_.

* * *

**DAY: 818**

Seungcheol wakes up one morning to the news that a terraforming colony on _Novis Initiis_ _III_ has been completely wiped out by, a yet unidentified, ‘parasitic organism’.

It’s the kind of otherworldly horror you expect to see in Science-fiction movies and TV—not splashed across your newsfeed at 8.30 in the morning when you’re buttering your toast. But there it is, in stark headlines _: ‘4000 colonists dead’_ , _‘Rescue team abandoned’_ , _‘Novis Initiis III deemed uninhabitable’, ‘Twenty billion-dollar project terminated’._

Needless to say, it’s something of a PR disaster for Central—especially if he’s hearing about it all the way up _here_.

He’s half surprised they even bothered to inform him at all, but that kind of shit isn’t something Central could possibly hope to cover up in the long run, so they’re clearly playing the transparency card early and hoping the population will be forgiving.

No luck there.

Within hours of the news breaking, there are more than a thousand videos, twice as many pictures, eleven news feeds, six ‘Aliens chest bursting’ memes, and numerous interviews from specialists drafted in from all over the world. There are protests outside Central HQ, angry mobs and devastated relatives demanding justice, outcries for the CEO’s resignation.

Turns out Central’s been trying to quarantine the site for months, kept sending scientists in hoping they could find a solution as to why their colonists insides where _liquifying_. Whatever it was, hadn’t been picked up in any initial or subsequent testing of the planet’s surface and no amount of medical intervention could reverse the effects. The quarantine measures failed, _repeatedly_ , until Central had to put their hand’s up and admit defeat. They withdrew from the colony, stopped sending resources and left the rescue team on site as a precautionary measure.

The fact that they could just so easily abandon their own like that seems to be what’s bothering people the most, but Seungcheol can see the logic behind it. As brutal as it is, until they can identify the parasite, Central can’t risk bringing anyone from the colony back and exposing a densely populated area.

Still though— _4000 people_.

That’s a bigger headcount than that Space-cruise ship disaster. Incidentally, also Central’s fault.

Seungcheol shucks off most of his duties for the day to follow the story, stays glued to the data-pad most of the day. He even breaks his ‘No TV at the dinner table’ rule, just so he can stay updated as events unfold.

“Can you believe this shit? It’s crazy.” He tells Jihoon as he bites into his sandwich.

“Yes. Such a sad loss of life.” Jihoon sighs. His expression is focused but there's a gentle nostalgia to the words. Something sad under his creased brow and the way he's curled in his chair.

“I’ll say—” Seungcheol’s voice is muffled as he chews. “4000 people. That’s approximately 900 families. _Gone_.”

“ _Families_?” Jihoon asks, and there’s an unmistakable tightness there.

“Yeah—well they were Terraformers Jihoon.” Seungcheol says simply. Then decides he should probably clarify. “Humans have been terraforming other planets for years to help manage population levels. There’s not enough space on Earth for all of us, so usually Terraforming colonies consist of entire families that emigrate off-planet for a fresh start.”

“Oh.” Jihoon says, His voice sounds strangely thin.

Seungcheol’s attention shifts back to the screen then, as an interview with one of Central’s leading scientists begins.

There’s a dull white cylindrical machine in the background, that appears to be a small-scale atmosphere converter, and the scientist starts explaining, too quickly—science too in-depth for Seungcheol to understand—his theories on the catastrophe. A perfunctory warning is announced by the news anchor, before a series of gruesome images from the colony flash on screen.

Seungcheol turns the channel, feeling winded and awful and just a little nauseous. When he looks across the table, he finds Jihoon’s already left, even though his sandwich remains largely untouched.

Seungcheol doesn’t blame him; he’s lost his appetite too.

* * *

It's some strange nebulous number of hours later that Seungcheol finds himself dozing on the flight deck and staring at a blank screen of his data-pad.

It’s out of _charge._

He lifts his head from the console and discovers that it's nearly 2:50am Central time.

Jesus—he’s killed an entire _day_.

When he finally stumbles back to the station’s living quarters, he’s surprised to discover Jihoon is still awake and in the Rec-room, slumped listlessly over the cushioned seat of the observation window and pale enough to look ghostly. Which suggests he'd been so busy with intellectual quandaries that he'd forgotten to move?

Probably.

At least he’s neglecting the data-pad in favour of staring into the blackness of space and yawning occasionally. Which is a good. Maybe he was paying attention to the whole _'the internet will melt your brain'_ part after all.

Seungcheol moves closer to stand over him, then nudges him gently with his knee. “It’s almost 3am Snowflake, what are you doing up?”

Jihoon looks away from the window and blinks at him, like he hadn't heard the question. One look at the table gives Seungcheol at least half of the picture. There are at least three sad empty cups with bare dribbles of coffee in each one. The one sitting at Jihoon’s side is still steaming.

There are really only a few explanations here, and Seungcheol jumps on the most obvious one.

"Why don't you want to sleep?” He asks carefully, gesturing at the coffee village Jihoon's seems intent on making himself mayor of. “Did you have another _nightmare_?”

Jihoon makes a soft grunt-like noise that commits him to nothing.

Seungcheol frowns, then drops into the seat next to him. “Who was a pickle person this time? Was it you? Was it _me_? Were we _both_ pickles?”

Jihoon gives him his patented 'stop making fun of me' face, but Seungcheol's far too amused to drop it that easily.

“C’mon tell me.” He needles, though he's fairly sure he should stop asking questions and just let Jihoon sulk in peace. That would be the sensible thing to do. “I promise I won’t tease you about it like last time.”

But Jihoon’s clearly not in the sharing mood right now. He tucks his knees up against his chest and turns his head away to stare out the viewport.

Seungcheol wonders if he should try a sarcastic 'watched any more porn recently' but it occurs to him that he might force Jihoon into doing exactly that, and they're really trying for the opposite.

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He concedes when Jihoon continues to make his miserable point with silence. “But I know what’ll cheer you up. You want some milk and cookies?”

Jihoon exhales, rough and inelegant, then frowns. “I’m not hungry.”

Seungcheol blinks at him, stunned. “Not even for milk and _cookies_?”

Jihoon shakes his head and curls up on himself a little more. There's a stiffness to him, something that tells Seungcheol this isn't just Jihoon being Jihoon. This is something else.

Seungcheol stares at him in the dark for a long, conflicted minute, then pads into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of milk and some of those doughy chocolate chip cookies he can’t resist. When he comes back, Jihoon’s still sitting where he was, head tipped against the glass.

Now that he’s approaching from a different angle, Seungcheol can see there’s a soft blue glow radiating off Jihoon’s skin and hair—one Seungcheol’s never seen before. He’s witnessed Jihoon’s red fiery glow of anger and his happy golden yellow glow, but the dull blue hum is a worrying new development. 

His Alien is clearly working through some _stuff_ and visibly leaking pained hurt all over the place as a result.

The idea bites at Seungcheol, while he quietly munches on a cookie, watching the tense line of Jihoon's back, shoulder blades looking sharper than usual through the back of his shirt. After a moment of hesitation, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the viewport seat a few inches away from Jihoon's foot and reaches out to wrap a hand round Jihoon's thin ankle. The skin's colder than he's expecting.

“What’s wrong Snowflake?”

Jihoon finally turns from the window and meets his eyes from under an errant, and particularly ludicrous, curl of hair. “What do you believe happens to someone when they die?”

Seungcheol startles at the question, wondering— _fearing_ —what prompted it.

Jihoon’s naturally inquisitive about everything, but if this is the kind of thought that’s tumbling around inside his head right now, his sullen, blue mood makes perfect sense. Seungcheol feels guilty for needling him earlier and weighs his answer with unaccustomed care.

“Ah, uhm—there’s lots of theories about that. Not many are conclusive, and a lot of them are based heavily around faith.”

He pauses long enough to dip his cookie into his glass.

“My mom’s kind of old school religious, so she believes there’s another life after death, that good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell and that’s all decided by one almighty dude. Quite a few religions preach that actually. A girl I went to college with believed in reincarnation, and that your actions in this life would impact on your status in the next. And then there’s some transcendence theory floating around that I don’t really know enough about to explain.”

Jihoon’s still frowning, thought the shape of it has grown small and uncertain. He opens his mouth then closes it, and that's the first time in a long time Seungcheol's seen him wrestle with his own thoughts.

“What do _you_ believe?” He asks cautiously.

Seungcheol makes a hesitant noise around another mouthful and shrugs. “I’m not very religious, or _at all_ , in fact. So my beliefs are pretty simple. I think when you die, you _die_. That’s it. There’s nothing else to it.”

Jihoon blinks, forehead crinkling further. “You don’t believe there is a way to reunite with people you have lost?”

Seungcheol shifts uncomfortably, “It’s a nice thought, and people are welcome to believe in it—but I—” He gives a sad, lop-sided smile. “I don’t know if this makes me a realist or a _nihilist_ , but I just don’t buy into it, yanno.”

Jihoon is quiet for a moment, before he reads something in Seungcheol's face and nods, almost to himself.

Seungcheol drains his glass of milk while Jihoon mulls that over, and thinks about offering him half of his cookie again, but he'd probably just stare at it. Or _research_ it. Which would be a tragic waste of a delicious chocolate chip cookie.

“What about you? What do _you_ believe in?” He finally ventures, popping the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

Jihoon makes a quiet noise. Despondent.

“Much the same as you. Though I have no conclusive proof that I am correct in my beliefs, it appears to be the most logical choice. Everything that has a beginning has an ending and though my species has achieved great technological advancements, we have never been able to access what lies beyond death. But I wish there _was_ a way. I wish I could see—” Jihoon stops, but Seungcheol thinks maybe he knows how that wants to end.

“See someone one last time?” He finishes quietly.

Jihoon looks away, like he's been caught thinking something terrible, and Seungcheol leans forward, finds himself asking, “Is this about the colonist story on the news?”

Jihoon's face briefly twitches into something deeply unhappy. “It….reminded me of something. Something I had been trying not to think about for some time.”

Seungcheol grimaces, feeling the slow slide of grief from the back of his neck to the pit of his stomach. “Did you lose someone?”

“A long time ago.” Jihoon says quietly, but meaningfully. He takes a slow breath in, then out, then whispers. “I wasn’t there in time.”

A new silence descends between them, a different and disconcerting sort of quiet. 

Uncomfortable, Seungcheol wipes his hands on his pants and scoots closer. “I lost my dad when I was sixteen years old. He uhm—” He swallows, his throat working as he tries to get the words out. “He had a car accident on his way back from work, a head-on collision with another driver who fell asleep at the wheel. I remember sitting on the grass outside school waiting for him to pick me up after football practice, and being so angry that he was late—then so confused when my uncle came by to pick me up instead. I’ll never forget that moment, the look on my Uncle’s face when he was trying to tell me—” 

Seungcheol trails off with a shaky inhale. It’s a painful memory—one that hurts to have brought up so suddenly; so much time lost, so many regrets and disagreements they would never reconcile.

When he lifts his gaze, the expression on Jihoon’s face is a complicated mess, like he's not entirely sure whether to say something or not.

When he does speak, his voice is the softest Seungcheol’s ever heard it. “I’m sorry Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol waves him away, quickly pushing away the familiar ache in his chest. 

Loss is something he has grown accustomed to. It’s something you learn to manage, not leave behind.

“What I’m trying to say is—loss like that never really goes away, but in time, it becomes more bearable. I still miss my dad a lot, I still wish he was around. But I had 16 pretty awesome years with him, and I treasure those memories. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try and cherish the time you _did_ spend together, not the time that was taken away from you.” Seungcheol says.

And wow, that came out sort of strangled and awful. He thinks maybe he tried for fake cheerful and failed miserably.

Jihoon's eyes catch his, then drop down again. “But I do not have any moments to treasure. I—I wasn’t there in time.” he repeats, a painful quirk to his mouth.

Despite the unflappable image Seungcheol strives to maintain, he is _not_ made of stone. Before he’s even conscious of his decision, he’s reaching over and hugging Jihoon in a way that might be described, by some, as over-enthusiastic. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit; his tiny Alien housemate is hurting and Seungcheol’s going to hug him better.

Thankfully, Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind the enforced proximity and quickly melts into the embrace. He curls his hands around Seungcheol’s neck, rubs his face into his shoulder like a fretful kitten and murmurs a quiet, “Sorry.”

Seungcheol backs away, not so far as to let go completely, but enough to look at Jihoon’s face—a face that’s quiet and tired and ever so slightly disappointed, but trying so hard not to be.

“What for? You don’t _have_ anything to apologise for Hoonie.”

The corner of Jihoon’s mouth lifts just a little. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know how to answer that, doesn’t know what that _means_. The conversation clearly has layers that there's no way he can unravel. That he's almost certainly not supposed to. But he needs to do _something_ , and there’s little he can offer right now but comfort. Pulling Jihoon onto his lap, he brushes a staticky strand of softly glowing hair from his forehead and presses a kiss to his temple. Jihoon relaxes almost instantly—curling against Seungcheol’s chest, ducking his head under his chin and pressing an ear over his heartbeat.

It strikes Seungcheol there—at that moment—that this is the most intimate way he’s ever held someone. Ever. He won’t lie to Jihoon—won’t make impossible promises and thin reassurances to make him feel better. But at least he can be _here_.

At least he can hold him close and share heat and let the silence speak for him.

The silence holds longer than he expects, and they stay there for a while, looking out together across the vast and improbable starscape beyond the glass. So many points of light prick the smothering darkness—a billion stars dying and igniting in swathes and swirls and chaos. It really is a spectacular view, and one he’s learning to appreciate. But as _cheesy_ as it sounds, he can’t help but feel that no view in any Galaxy compares to the sight of the petite alien curled up in his arms. 

.

.

.

.

“What do you mean by _cheesy_?” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol sighs. “Please don’t read my mind when we’re having a moment.”

* * *

**DAY:825**

Seungcheol's running diagnostics on the back-up mainframe the next time he hears the pitter patter of feet which tells him there's now an Alien somewhere in the vicinity. He turns his head to the side, watches Jihoon’s bare feet step their way around patches of coolant.

"Snowflake, you know it’s not safe to be down here when I’m repairing shit. You don’t have any protective clothing." Seungcheol says from where he’s lying underneath the access panel.

The feet stop near the scatter of tools Seungcheol's left within reaching distance.

“I know, but—there is something I wish to discuss with you.” Jihoon says. He sounds distinctly unhappy about it.

Seungcheol pauses, just for an instant, then picks up his screwdriver, “Alright,” he says, slowly, trying not to sound anything but casually interested. “Shoot.”

Jihoon is silent for so long that Seungcheol thinks he’s forgotten he was going to say anything. Then he murmurs: “My distress beacon has yet to receive a response.”

Nothing else, no elaboration.

Seungcheol switches his screwdriver for his wrench and says, “Okay, but it’s only been a few—” He pauses, calculating just exactly how long it’s been since Jihoon appeared in his life.

He’s startled to realise it’s been well over two months. Which is, yeah…

A search and rescue mission back on Earth would have ended by now. Any missing parties would have been declared MIA or dead, so it makes sense for Jihoon to be a _little_ concerned.

“Normally they would have responded by now.” Jihoon says into the silence, as if reading his thoughts.

Seungcheol shrugs, which is a pretty pointless gesture when he's lying under the access panel, “So, what—You think something’s interfering with the signal? It’s not getting through to the relevant people?” he asks around a wrench.

“No.” Jihoon tells him, then, with a certain desperate clarity, “I think they are _ignoring_ me.”

“W-hat? That’s _crazy_.” Seungcheol offers, without really thinking about it. He turns his head out of the way of a drip of coolant. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I have broken our laws.” Jihoon announces in that unnecessarily portentous tone. Like this is serious business indeed. 

Seungcheol blinks. “What laws?”

There's a strange silence that almost sounds guilty. Seungcheol isn't entirely sure how he's even getting that, because he's still looking at his hands, and the sleek stretch of the main-frame’s underside. He looks sideways but all he can see are Jihoon’s bare feet, and they’re annoyingly unhelpful about what he's thinking.

“We are not supposed to…..interfere with other species.” Jihoon answers eventually. “We are only supposed to observe, from a distance. Direct interference is reprehensible and anyone who doesn’t observe these laws is shunned from our society. Or at least, that is what I was told when I first embarked on my journey. I was warned of the risks.”

Seungcheol takes a moment to figure that out in his head. The whole thing is both impossibly interesting and very disturbing.

“How would they even _know_ you broke this law? Did you tell them, or are they watching you or something?”

“They have ways of knowing. My choices have created a disturbance. It’s—It’s hard to explain.” Frustration ripples through Jihoon's tone.

Seungcheol suspects there’s more to it than that.

There’s a great deal about Jihoon’s world that’s hard to explain, but that’s never stopped him before.

“Look,” Seungcheol begins gently, grabbing his wrench again, “You can’t know that’s what’s happening here for certain. It could be that the signal just hasn’t reached them yet. I mean, you travelled through that rift. Maybe it has to be open for the signal to get through. We just have to figure out how to open that rift again and--”

“I was the one who opened the rift.” Jihoon interjects.

Seungcheol stops turning the wrench. “What?”

“I opened the rift, to travel through.” Jihoon repeats.

There's a quiet, clipped brevity to the words. It's oddly restrained for Jihoon. Seungcheol gets the feeling there are words under there, a great deal of words. Though for some strange and bewildering reason he's choosing not to share them. Which isn't like him. In as much as Jihoon can be _predicted._

“How?” Seungcheol asks in surprise. “Do you have like…some sort of space warp function on your ship?”

Which if he does...is actually pretty cool.

There's a pointed silence, in which, Seungcheol assumes, Jihoon is attempting to translate human sci-fi jargon into useable word forms. “I’m not quite sure what you mean by ‘space warp’,” Jihoon says eventually, “But my people have been traversing the galaxies for several millennia’s through linear and non-linear means.”

“Wha—ow!” Seungcheol's hand slams into a hard piece of metal and he holds in a swearword and makes a pained fist. “Wait, wait, wait—what does that mean?”

“I believe the non-linear concept is still yet an undiscovered terrain for humans, but my research indicates your scientists are aware of the concept, just that you are unable to comprehend it’s use and are unable replicate the conditions to allow for it. Your MWI theory comes close to reality, but the idea that the non-denumerably infinite realities are non-communicating is laughable. But I suppose your small human brains are most comfortable with a linear description of time than the possibility of several indefinite outcomes of the same reality.”

Seungcheol nods, which probably isn't helpful at all but he's not sure he can manage words right now. He tries for the sake of conversation. “That sounds fascinating Jihoon, but I’m not sure I understood a _word_ of it. Non-denumerable infinite _realities_? I don’t even know if that’s three words or four.”

Jihoon heaves a very disappointed sigh. He’s actually disappointed that his science mumbo jumbo didn’t make perfect sense immediately. There's no point Seungcheol pretending he understands either. Jihoon is easily the most intelligent person he knows, and Seungcheol’s pride does not strain in admitting he’s a little lost when Jihoon rambles about ‘science’ shit.

“I do not know if there is a way I can explain that clearer.” Jihoon huffs.

“Don’t bother trying. Like I said—I’m just a jarhead, not Stephen Hawking.” Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his temple. “Can’t you just, I dunno, open up the rift and go back through it?”

“My ship is damaged. Your reality does not have the necessary equipment to repair it. That is why I released the distress signal.” Jihoon admits, sounding like he's further away than before.

There’s a contemplative silence before he continues, “I _could_ re-open the rift on a smaller scale, but it would not be stable enough for me travel for an extended period of time. I could only exist in each reality for a handful of minutes at a time, and that would be very unsatisfying a life to lead.”

Seungcheol thinks about that for a minute. Then tries to think about it like _Jihoon._

Needless to say, he gets an instant _migraine_.

“So, what you’re saying is…..you’re stuck here?” He ventures.

Jihoon heaves a quiet, defeated sigh. “It appears so.”

Seungcheol scratches his chin and considers the options before him.

Keeping Jihoon here, with him, would be the kindest option if it were not also undeniably selfish. As annoying as he can be sometimes, Seungcheol enjoys Jihoon’s company. He can’t imagine going back to the long stretches of silence and soldier through them sanely. On the other hand, concealing an Alien species aboard a government space station is probably somewhere on the list of things that’ll get you court marshalled for treason. Or gross misconduct at the least.

Seungcheol can only imagine the consequences he will face if Jihoon’s existence onboard is discovered. His sense of ease bleeds away a little if he thinks about it too long. 

In the end, the decision is easier than it should be.

Consequences or no, Seungcheol is a selfish man, and a pragmatist. He won't send Jihoon away to fend for himself simply because it's easier. Never mind the regulations; he _will not_ lose his Alien.

“So you stay here, with me. Is that so bad?” Seungcheol asks. 

He can't help grinning at the bewildered silence that comes from somewhere to his left.

Jihoon shifts closer, Seungcheol likes to think his tiny toes are giving off an air of curious pique.

“You would allow this?” He offers slowly and uncertainly. Like he's truly bewildered by it.

Seungcheol shrugs. He really should stop doing that when Jihoon can’t see him.

“Sure, why not.”

He can’t see Jihoon’s expression from this angle. His hesitation is audible, though.

“But I am disrupting your realities quantum state. I am interfering with your linear progression. Does this not bother you?” Jihoon says carefully. Like he’s surprised Seungcheol didn’t notice that happening or something.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

There's a very long pause, so long that Seungcheol thinks maybe Jihoon isn't going to speak again. But when he cranes his neck out from under the access panel, he finds the petite alien standing there. Jihoon's face is a pale shadow beneath all his hair, expression unhappy.

“What about when your work here is complete, and you return to Earth? What will I do then?” Jihoon says eventually, voice slow and rough.

Again, Seungcheol considers his options, though this time it's the logistics of the situation making him hesitate. Keeping Jihoon here is one thing, smuggling an Alien back to Earth is something else entirely.

It’s not going to be easy, not by a long shot. But it _is_ doable.

Seungcheol slithers his way out from under the access panel, straightens up. “I have a spare room back at my place, and I’ve always wanted a housemate.” He offers.

Jihoon blinks at him, like that didn’t answer his question, like it wasn’t an obvious invitation. Clearly super intelligent aliens need it _spelled_ out for them.

“What I’m saying is, you can stay with me Jihoon. In my home. On _Earth_.” Seungcheol repeats, holding Jihoon’s gaze unwaveringly.

Jihoon frowns. He’s clearly in one of his observant moods, either that or he's just naturally suspicious of Seungcheol’s generosity. “Won’t the leaders of your world object to such an arrangement?”

A small, involuntary chuckle escapes Seungcheol, “Why? Are you planning on destroying Earth or something?”

Jihoon makes a face at him. “No. I would never harm another living being.”

A mischievous smile licks at the corner of Seungcheol's lips. “Then I guess they don’t have to know. It’ll be our little secret.”

Jihoon’s brow is a topographical map of worry; Seungcheol watches him chew on the inside of his lip for a moment—he probably thinks he is being surreptitious about it.

“And how do you propose we maintain this secret Seungcheol? How exactly will I return to Earth with you without anyone finding out?”

Seungcheol takes a deep, unnecessary breath and considers his answer. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay. I still have months before my rotation ends, _months_ to think of something. And I _will_ think of something.” He lifts a hand to pinch Jihoon’s nose gently. “It’ll be okay Jihoon, I won’t leave you behind.” He says, hoping to ease the worry-lines between Jihoon’s eyebrows.

They _do_ ease, and after a moment Jihoon smiles at him, eyes warm and far too bright. “I often wonder if he would have been as kind as you.” He whispers.

The non-sequitur catches Seungcheol off guard, “Huh?”

For an instant—almost too quick to catch—panic darts through Jihoon's eyes. Then he’s blinking it away quickly, and shaking his head. “Nothing. This is very pleasing news Seungcheol. I am very…. _pleased_. Thank you.” He says, and the blissful gratitude that brightens his features is enough to break Seungcheol’s heart.

“C’mere tiny roomie,” He says, throwing an arm around Jihoon’s shoulder, ruffling his hair for good measure. “C’mon, I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Proper hot chocolate. None of that powdery shit.”

Jihoon bursts into a sunshine yellow glow, clearly enthused by the promise of proper hot chocolate. “Will you adorn it with the miniature cylindrical whipped gelatin and sucrose mixture?”

Seungcheol laughs and squeezes his shoulder, “Yeah, sure. As many mini marshmallows as you want.”


	6. Fluctuations

**DAY: 831**

“Seungmin will be home any minute, please hold on—he really wants to speak to you.”

“I can’t stay on the line forever Mom; these calls are insanely expensive for Central.” Seungcheol argues, for what might just be the fifth time in the last hour.

His mother’s expression sharpens. “If those bastards can keep you up in that tin ship for three years, they can pay for you to speak with your family for more than 30 minutes a month!”

Seungcheol wilts back into his seat under the force of her glare. “I guess I can hold on a while longer.”

His mother’s face breaks into a warm smile, and she reaches a hand towards the screen, as if to trace his face. “It breaks my heart to think you’re stuck up there for another six months— _alone_.”

Seungcheol grimaces; he hates seeing that look of pity on her face.

She doesn’t know what he gets up to all alone up here and she never dares ask, but Seungcheol knows she worries. A man, a bottle of booze and a shit ton of heavy machinery. It would make any mother worry.

“Don’t be sad Mom, I’m not alone.” The words slip out before he can think twice about them. He bites his tongue to keep from cursing.

His mother squints at him, leaning in closer to the screen. “Oh?”

“Uh—I mean—” Seungcheol fumbles around for a noble lie. “I’m never alone, not when I have _Jesus_ in my heart.”

Which is by far, the biggest pile of steaming shit he could have come up with.

His mother doesn’t seem to be buying it either.

“I didn’t think you were one for religion Cheollie.” She says, sceptical.

“Oh, I’m not. Just—ya know.” He waves a hand vaguely, “All this spare time on my hands, it’s given me an opportunity to re-connect…with _God_.”

Some of his mother’s amusement banks into worry, and she says, “Okay, now you’re definitely sounding delusional. I can’t wait for this dreadful mission to end and for you to come home. I’m worried about you.”

“ _Mom_ \--” Seungcheol begins to reassure her.

“Oh—you’re brother’s home!” His mother interrupts, waving a hand to shush him. “I’ll go call him! Don’t go anywhere!”

She disappears from view, leaving Seungcheol with a boxed view of the living room. The small glimpse of his family home and the faraway strains of tinny radio music creeping in around him, make him unbearably home-sick all of a sudden.

It’s a reminder of why he doesn’t call as much as he probably should.

“Hey loser!” Seungcheol’s younger brother, Seungmin, bursts onto the screen. “—how’s it going?”

Seungcheol grins and fists bumps the screen as Seungmin does. “Oh, you know. Same nebula, different day.”

“Mom says you’ve found Jesus?” Seungmin says, with a hint of amusement.

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head helplessly. “I was just making shit up so she wouldn’t worry about me out here.”

Seungmin dips his head in understanding. “We all worry about you out there. You’ve been out there for too long, but you look good though. Better than you looked last time we talked.”

“Ah—really?” Seungcheol scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Guess I have been feeling better lately. I’m getting more sleep and I have a lot more on my plate to distract me now. Never know, I might even extend my stay.”

Seungmin snorts a laugh. “Fuck off—you can’t. I’m gonna need you to be here this time next year.”

“Oh yeah?” Seungcheol leans forward, frowning. “Why’s that?”

Seungmin is quiet for long enough that Seungcheol's half sure he's working towards something important. Then he finally raises a hand to the screen and flashes the ring on his fourth finger.

“I’m gonna need you here, to be my best man.”

Seungcheol tenses in surprise. Then a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Fuck off— _seriously_?”

Seungmin flashes him a winning smile. “I proposed last week. Yoo-jung’s Birthday.”

“Woah—” Seungcheol breathes. _Bit soon, isn’t it?_ —He carefully doesn’t say, because Seungmin’s not asking for advice here—he’s obviously already decided Yoo-jung’s the _one_. Even if they’ve only been dating a year, and even if her dad has been an insufferable jerk about the whole thing, Seungmin must feel like she’s someone worth hanging onto.

Seungmin has always longed for stability in his life, and Seungcheol won’t begrudge him that.

“Congratulations Baby Bro. I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Isn’t it wonderful news Seungcheol?” His mother says, the sound far away, and then louder as her face pops into view again. “They’ll have a winter wedding.”

Seungcheol grins at her obvious excitement. He’s honestly surprised she didn’t break the news herself.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s amazing news. I’m—”

“Yoo-jung’s asked me to help with the planning and we’ve already drawn up a guest list. It will be the society wedding of the year, and you know what this means—” His mother trails off suggestively, almost like a threat. 

“What?” Seungcheol asks warily.

“This means you need to get your finger out and find someone too. Time to settle down.” She continues fondly, almost flippantly, but there’s that familiar undertone of steel that brooks no argument.

Seungcheol can feel all the colour drain out of his face and looks imploringly at his brother crushed into the corner of the screen as he says, “Mom— _please_.”

He can practically hear his mother pointing her finger as she adds, “Your younger brother is getting married before you—what message will that send? The pressure is on Seungcheol. The pressure is very much on. Find yourself a lovely girl to settle down with. Or I can find one for you, since you’ve been a little _lax_ with your efforts lately.”

Seungcheol fights down the urge to hurl the data-pad across the room.

If it’s one thing he hasn’t missed, it’s his mother’s helicopter parenting and her desperate need for him to settle down as soon as possible.

Even when he was about to leave for a 3-year stint she was pestering him. Even when he'd been putting in eighty-hour weeks for months and months preparing for his mission, she’d been trying to set him up on dates. She just couldn’t seem to understand that a career as a space pilot didn’t leave him much time for anything else. Not that his personal life had been particularly action-packed before that.

As far as she’s concerned, he just likes making excuses not to settle down. And to be fair, she’s probably right.

“I really don’t think this is the best time to discuss _me_. Surely we should be celebrating _Seungmin’s_ news.” Seungcheol says, attempting to steer the conversation away from himself.

It’s a skill he's spent a lifetime perfecting, but his mother is in no mood to be steered today.

“Of course, it is. Your brother’s getting married in a year—and you should aim to have someone at your side by then.” She presses, reluctant to let it go.

“What part of ‘deep space _solo_ mission’ do you not understand?” Seungcheol grunts, ignoring the way his mother scrunches up her face at him, “I’m millions of miles away from the nearest human. It’s not like I can just walk outside, head to a club and pull.”

His mother scoffs, just like the last four or five times he’s made that excuse.

“There is such a thing as online dating. You could be forming connections up there!”

“Give him a break, Mom.” A second voice, Seungmin’s, sounds distantly in the background. “He’s in space. What are you expecting him to do—start fucking aliens?”

“Seungmin—language!” His mother’s voice gets quieter, as she turns away to berate his brother.

“Look—can we talk about this later,” Seungcheol says but it only serves to draw her attention back to him.

“…I’m worried about you, Cheollie. You can’t be a bachelor forever,” his mother is saying. “27 years old and you don’t have anyone. You know, Mrs. Chan’s daughter came home for the holidays, and we had her over for dinner. She’s a resident in medical school and quite pretty. There’s also Jisoo, she works at the library…”

“Mom—.” Seungcheol’s heart pounds in his throat at the idea of being passed around in his mother’s version of speed dating. “I won’t be home for at least another 6 months.”

“I know that dear, but it doesn’t mean I can’t plan ahead.” His mother beams innocently back at him over the screen. Then she’s off again, describing more eligible young women but Seungcheol isn’t listening.

Possibly his expression is beginning to verge on murderous at this point, because Seungmin quickly steps in to do his best impersonation of Switzerland. He blocks the view, winking at Seungcheol and murmuring “Mom, please—I need to talk to him. Best man stuff," as he ushers their mother away.

Seungcheol waits till their mother leaves the room, before speaking again. “Thanks man. There’s only so much of that I can handle.”

Seungmin chuckles, then leans forward and lowers his tone confidentially, “Yoo-jung has a sister if you’re interested?”

“The chiropodist?” Seungcheol shudders. “No thanks.”

Seungmin levels him a humouring look. “You know—if you come to my Wedding single, mom’s going to make sure you don’t leave single. It might be in your best interest to have _some_ kind of arm candy lined up—” He holds up a placating hand before Seungcheol can argue, “For your _own_ sanity.”

Seungcheol sighs and slumps back in his seat, turns to look out across the room.

The time difference means he’s having this conversation smack bang in the middle of the night, so Jihoon’s currently sleeping, sprawled out on the bed but safely out of view of the screen. His hair is looking like it's trying to escape into the pillow, and he has one arm wound under his body, the other stretched out to the side as if it was searching for Seungcheol’s warmth and gave up half-way. A leg has fallen out from the sheet and his foot's trailing on the floor, in defiance of every 'monster under the bed' story that's ever been written. He's snoring with the sort of soft but reverberating clarity that Seungcheol has long been immune to.

Occasionally he makes a squeaky noise and mumbles ‘ _Cheol’_ into his own arm. A good dream, Seungcheol thinks, because he’ll flicker with a happy glow ever now and then.

Despite himself, Seungcheol smiles at the sight.

“You never know Min.” He says, turning back to face the screen. “Maybe I will find someone to bring.”

* * *

**DAY: 834**

Seungcheol wakes up floating in mid-air.

He doesn’t quite know where he is, or where his bed has gone, but he feels impossibly weightless and there is a lot of stuff floating around him—objects swimming in and out of his vision, like they’re under underwater.

Or like _he_ is underwater

Which should have been his first clue something wasn’t quite right, but right now, he’s still half asleep and he’s pretty sure he’s just dreaming in zero gravity again.

It happens—big shrug. He’s in space after all, and after you’ve been stationed in space for 834 days, you’re bound to have your fair share of zero gravity dreams.

It’s not a worse case scenario as far as his dreams are concerned, so he lets his eyes slide shut again, and tries to ignore the bump-bump-bump of his nose against the ceiling. It mostly works, until the weightlessness suddenly disappears and he’s dropping to the floor with a dizzying _whoosh_.

And— _Jesus Fuck_ —that hurts. The hurts like hell.

He doesn't think you are allowed to be in pain while you are dreaming, it seems grossly unfair. Dreaming is not for pain, dreaming is for giant, walking talking French fries, and naked dancing girls, and fighting giant tarantulas from Mars, that are eating the population of earth......that was an _awesome_ dream.

It occurs to him suddenly that he is not in fact dreaming, but very much awake. And he seems to be lying on the floor next to the bed, which is absolutely not where he fell asleep. There’s also a hard object digging into his back uncomfortably, that when he finally drags himself upright turns out to be his alarm clock.

_How in the hell?_

Seungcheol drags himself up onto the bed and whimpers for a little while in the foetal position. When the ache is almost bearable, he gets to his feet slowly, automatically taking inventory of his surroundings. 

The duvet is in a heap in the corner, the pillows are on the other side of the room. The Sudoku book he’d been working on before he drifted off is lying by the window and the pen….is probably half-way down his throat.

Jesus, all his stuff is _everywhere_ , like it too has been suspended in the air and dropped carelessly elsewhere.

Now he’s almost positive that wasn’t a zero gravity dream he was having—but a real life zero gravity _experience_.

Which…shouldn’t be possible.

Yeah, he’s in space, he gets it—but there are measures in place. There are safety protocols and operational parameters and highly sophisticated computer programs in-built to the station to stop shit like surprise! zero gravity from happening without him _knowing_ about it.

Hell, there wasn’t even a safety announcement to warn him, and there _should_ have been. He’s had the very dull, very comprehensive training to deal with such an eventuality, so he knows there would have been sirens blaring all up and down the corridors if the gravity pump ceased to function. Unless….

_That little shit._

“JIHOON!” Seungcheol yells into the empty room.

It’s futile though, because Seungcheol suspects his petite Alien housemate has already squirreled himself away somewhere—somewhere inconspicuous and hard to reach, where he can avoid the smack on the ass he deserves.

He’s probably packed enough snacks for the day too, hoping they’ll last him long enough for Seungcheol’s anger to die down so he can pop up and _glow_ at him and all will be forgiven. Which to be fair, happens 9 out of 10 times Jihoon pulls a reckless stunt in the name of science, but— _no_.

Not today.

Seungcheol allows for approximately thirty seconds of anger for not putting his foot down sooner before he grabs his clothes and gets dressed. He’s moving a little stiffer than usual, like he’s spent all night in the gym.

Which isn’t surprising when you’ve been gently awakened by a six-foot drop to the ground.

Honestly—he’s going to kill Jihoon if he’s responsible.

What’s he saying— _of course_ Jihoon is responsible!

When he steps out into the rec area, he’s annoyed but not surprised to find the chaos has extended there too. Anything that isn’t bolted down or built into the station has been displaced, which only amounts to a few couch cushions and books in the rec room—but the kitchen….

The kitchen is a fucking _mess_! 

The toaster—which has survived some of Jihoon’s most creative experiments—is well, _toast_. As is the kettle, the smoothie maker and the handful of mugs he left drying on the draining board. Last night’s leftovers are splattered all over one wall like some kind of impressionist painting, and what looks to be every single fucking glass cup on the ship is smashed along the grey tile in translucent slivers.

Seungcheol sighs and crunches his way across the kitchen to fetch the dustpan and brush. He’s halfway across the sea of broken glass when there’s a rustling noise from somewhere behind him, and then the sound of footsteps, before Jihoon eventually appears in the kitchen doorway.

“Oh.” Jihoon gasps, apparently as surprised by the mess as Seungcheol was, but not the slightest bit repentant. Padding further into the kitchen, he examines the mess on floor, on the wall—goddamn _everywhere_ with his usual scientific curiosity.

“I see the effects have been felt throughout the station. How interesting.” He says brightly, and Seungcheol can't help thinking it's unfair of him to have such energy at this hour.

“What the hell are you playing at, huh?” Seungcheol grinds his teeth together, rounding on him. “We have one rule Jihoon, just one. Can your huge brain _remember_ what it is?”

Jihoon nods emphatically, “Yes. Don’t fuck with the station.”

“And what did you _do_?” Seungcheol snaps, looming over him. 

“I didn’t fuck with the station.” Jihoon chirps.

“You….you _didn’t_?” Seungcheol hesitates, wrong-footed.

Jihoon shakes his head, “No. I didn’t tamper with any of the controls or alter the trajectory. I was merely trying to open and stabilise a black hole in the green house.”

Oh well. If that’s all he was doing, Seungcheol might as well just go back to sleep.

Except WHAT THE FUCK!?

“A—a black hole?!” Seungcheol parrots, disbelieving.

“Yes—a black hole Seungcheol. It’s a region of spacetime that exhibits intense gravitational acceleration.” Jihoon supplies calmly, like it never occurs to him that the question there might be 'what the hell' instead of 'please, enlighten me.'

“The greenhouse would have been the perfect location for one. Implausibly however, I seem to have made an error with the calculations and the gravitational fluctuations extended throughout the station. But don’t worry, I will review my calculations before proceeding with the experiment.”

“You will not proceed with shit!” Seungcheol barks, jabbing a finger in his direction. “No black holes on the space station Jihoon. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. That should go without saying!”

Jihoon sighs with an overblown sense of frustration, “Humanities fear of black holes is ridiculous. My species have been utilising them for a millennia, and we’ve made great technological strides in space travel. Once they are stabilised, they’re really very harmless.”

Seungcheol stares at him. “I don’t give a shit. No more black holes.”

“But—”

“No!”

Jihoon pulls a face, sticking his bottom lip out a little. Like Seungcheol’s being _unfair_ by forbidding him from opening a supermassive orgy of destruction in their home. Then he attempts to side-step Seungcheol to reach the fridge and Seungcheol has to wrangle him back quickly before he walks right over the many shards of glass.

“You can’t walk in here barefoot idiot! Can’t you see there’s fucking _glass_ everywhere?”

Jihoon's frown seems not to know the answer to that. Or perhaps he doesn’t think stepping barefoot on broken glass has the same effect as it does on humans. Hell—what does Seungcheol know, maybe it doesn’t, or maybe Jihoon’s species have super-fast regenerative properties that makes them impervious to sharp pointy things.

Whatever. Seungcheol’s not taking any chances, and he’d rather not have to clean up blood off the floor too. So grabbing Jihoon by the waist, he steers him away from the glass and hoists him up onto the counter to sit while he cleans up. And because he _knows_ Jihoon can’t sit still unless suitably occupied, he fetches him a Capri-sun from the fridge and doesn’t show how to open it.

That should keep him busy for a while.

“Why were you trying to open a black hole anyway?” Seungcheol says, voice muffled as he digs through the storage room for a broom.

“To traverse space and time, what else?” Jihoon huffs.

He sounds impatient, and when Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at him, he finds his petite Alien is already infuriated with his failure at finding an opening for his Capri-Sun pouch. He’s an actual genius, but the pointy straw stuck to the side and the ‘insert straw here’ directions are clearly wasted on him.

Seungcheol snickers quietly to himself and returns to his digging. A moment later, he reappears with the broom and begins sweeping the shards of glass into a neat pile. His face is twisted down as he asks, “Why was traversing space and time necessary in the middle of the night exactly? And don’t think for a moment that my intrigue is an invitation for you to continue, I’d just like to know why you almost killed us both.”

Jihoon sighs loudly, “We were in no danger Seungcheol—I knew what I was doing.” His face taken on an angry, pinched quality as he tries to tear into the Capri-Sun with his bare hands. “And I almost had it stabilised before I noticed the gravitational imbalance and aborted to minimise your discomfort.”

Seungcheol leans the broom against the counter to pick up the dustpan, “Aw, gee thanks Jihoonie. I’m happy to know you were thinking about me. It almost makes that six-foot drop to the floor worth it.”

Jihoon looks appropriately shamefaced at that. Or maybe just embarrassed he can’t open his Capri-sun. “I suppose I _should_ have warned you before I began. Or at least secured you to the bed.”

“ _Or_ —not tried to open a black hole in the first place.” Seungcheol counters sensibly, bending down to sweep the shards into the dustpan before tipping them into the trash. 

He takes one look at the splatter of leftovers still smeared on the far wall and decides that’s a job for the morning; it’s not imminently hazardous and he’s really not in the mood to fetch a ladder and a bucket of soapy water on 3 hours of sleep.

Or ever actually.

He shouldn’t have to clean this shit up at all, come to think of it. Jihoon should be the one fetching brooms and buckets of soapy water while _he_ kicks back with a Capri-sun. 

“Cheol— _please_. This is so unfair.” Jihoon _whines_ from somewhere behind him, and Seungcheol turns to find him gnawing at the Capri-Sun pouch in a fit of despair. It’s pretty damn satisfying to see him fail at something so simple and so _below_ his intellect level, but Seungcheol supposes he’s suffered enough.

“Give it here.” Seungcheol chuckles. Snatching the pouch out of Jihoon’s hands, he stabs the straw through the hole cleanly thanks to his many years of practice, and hands it back to a stupefied Jihoon. “See—straw goes in hole. So you can drinky-drink some juicy-juice.”

That heavy and deliberate layer of condescension seems to bypass Jihoon completely, or he’s choosing to ignore it in favour of sipping on his drink with an approving ‘ _Hmm’_. Honestly, he can be so annoying sometimes, but more often than not he’s just the cutest little glowing bastard in the galaxy. Especially when he quickly drains his Capri-sun, stares at the empty pouch sadly and says. “More.”

Seungcheol smiles at him indulgently, then takes the empty pouch and dumps it in the trash.

“Tomorrow. After you help me clean up the mess you made, I’ll give you another one.”

Jihoon pouts at him. “I’m afraid I won’t have time to help you clean up. I have to finish my experiment.”

Seungcheol has to tamp down a fresh surge of exasperation. He rubs the space between his eyes and sighs, explosively. “Have I been talking to myself this whole time? Didn’t I _just say_ you are _not_ to continue with this experiment? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did. _No. Black. Holes_.”

“But it’s important Seungcheol!” Jihoon urges, waving a hand and giving him a look that's all enthusiasm and optimism and hope. “I wouldn’t deliberately alter the fabric of space and time if it wasn’t important.”

Seungcheol makes a dubious noise in his throat. “Okay, but _why_ is it important?”

Jihoon’s eyes light up with excitement as he explains, “The singularity point a black hole creates acts as a gateway of sorts, and I have been able to extrapolate some technical schematics from my space ship that should enable me to travel huge distances both in a linear and non-linear capacity without using my ship at all.”

Seungcheol takes a moment for the implications of that to sink in, before swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

“But…I …I thought we agreed you’d be coming home with me? To _Earth_. Have you changed your mind?” He asks Jihoon carefully.

He's looking closely at Jihoon's face with the question, and so he catches the quick widening of Jihoon's eyes, the cracking of his poker face into miles of choking worry. Then the glimpse is gone, replaced by the unbreakable calm Jihoon wears like a mantle.

“No—that is _still_ my intention. But I just wanted to….I had to be….I _needed_ to be…” He stops himself short, and Seungcheol wonders how that sentence would have ended.

Jihoon’s not avoiding his gaze, but Seungcheol can sense the hesitation in his demeanour anyway. His space boy isn't actively stalling, but he's shying from _something_. Whatever it is, Seungcheol guesses it's probably a doozy. Jihoon seems to love the sound of his own voice, so he wouldn’t stop talking over _nothing_.

Seungcheol waits a moment.

Then another.

When the silence persists, he leans forwards and braces his hands on the counter, on either side of Jihoon’s hips. 

"Jihoon?" He says it softly. He doesn't have to say anything else.

Jihoon's expression turns sheepish, and he finally looks away.

"I needed to be certain I was making the right choice." He tells Seungcheol, timidly, like he thinks he might get told off for it.

Seungcheol isn't sure why this nettles him, but it does.

He’d long accepted the fact that Jihoon would be returning with him to Earth, even if he hadn’t quite figured out _how_ yet. So to think that there’s a possibility he might not be, leaves him at loose ends.

Logistically it would be easier, certainly, for them to part ways at the end of Seungcheol’s mission—but the idea of it, of never seeing Jihoon again…..

 _Shit_.

Seungcheol’s beginning to realise just how much he's come to rely on Jihoon's presence in his life, every moment of every day. He can't imagine going back to the way things were before.

“Look—” He sighs tiredly and reaches out, sets a hand on Jihoon's wrist and gives a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t _have_ to come back with me if you don’t want to Jihoon. You’re welcome to do whatever you want. I just thought I was helping out by giving you that option. If you don’t like the idea of living on Earth, I’ll help you figure something else out that doesn’t involve tearing the station in half. If living with _me_ is what you’re having second thoughts about, I can set you up somewhere else on—”

Jihoon’s head flies up sharply, “No—no! I want to, I want to live with you! That’s all I want.” He gasps, with an eagerness that seems wholehearted and utterly unfeigned.

Seungcheol ignores the way it surprises him, the way it makes something clench in his chest. “Then...what’s the problem?”

Jihoon’s fingers twitch against the counter and Seungcheol thinks he detects just the slightest tension return to his profile. The quiet grows too heavy between them, and it's all Seungcheol can do to meet Jihoon's eyes. But he asked; he can wait for Jihoon's answer.

“My fate is not the only one affected by my decisions. I needed to be certain I was not affecting another’s,” says Jihoon finally.

Seungcheol isn't sure exactly what he’s supposed to say to that.

Something in the words feels wrong. There's calculated neutrality in Jihoon's voice—a sense of foreboding that riles Seungcheol's curiosity but somehow, simultaneously, warns him he doesn't want to know.

But of course, Seungcheol can't leave it alone; he's too stubborn for that. So he takes a moment to bounce that information around in his head, before asking, “And opening a black hole is the only was to give you the answers you need? Can’t you just, I dunno, hypothesise the outcome with some super complicated mathematics?”

Jihoon shoots him an unimpressed look—like he’s the one talking shit.

“Of course not Seungcheol, how can I possibly predict events in a separate non-linear system? That’s absurd! Aren’t you familiar with your scientists’ research into Chaos Theory? I minute change in in one state, even in a deterministic nonlinear system, can result in huge differences in the later state. Never mind the widely different initial conditions exhibited in a completely alternate timeline. It’s like you’re proposing that because I like hot chocolate in this timeline, I will like hot chocolate in every eventuality. But for all you know the initial conditions in one timeline could have been altered by something as simple as a fear of cows, or a lactose intolerance, and I have never had hot chocolate in my life. That in turn could change the entire course of my life, where my inherent dislike of milk products has shaped my very existence in said timeline. In that eventuality, had we met and had you offered me a hot chocolate, I may have refused your offer—in another eventuality, I may have even murdered you on the spot for being so insensitive towards my lactose intolerance. In a third, I may have persuaded you to try a non-dairy alternative and you would have murdered me. So you see, the conditions can never be replicated to allow for an accurate prediction of events. To suggest so, is the very height of stupidity. Therefore, the gravitational singularity of the black hole is the only way I can access the multiple interdimensional timelines and see for myself the cause and effect of our relationship.”

Seungcheol whistles, a glint in his eyes. “Okay..so I think that went to a really dark, really complicated place. I’m pretty sure I heard the word murder in there, and I don’t think I liked it Jihoon. Not gonna lie. So, if you can just tell me—in layman’s terms—why you thought opening a black hole was a good idea, that would be great.”

Jihoon crosses his arms and huffs; he really hates dumbing down his science rants for Seungcheol’s benefit. “Because I will be able to examine each eventuality as it stands in non-linear time! It will give me all the answers I need.”

“Right—of course.” Seungcheol nods, pretending to get it, but really _not_.

It’s possible he’s even more confused than before, but he decides he's just going to cut off the line of questioning there, before Jihoon develops that frustrated little crease between his eyes that suggests his wilful refusal to join up the dots physically pains him. Though Seungcheol hasn't quite worked out whether Jihoon honestly thinks he’s vastly stupider than him, or whether he's decided Seungcheol just isn’t bothering to try. Possibly just to piss him off.

Though Seungcheol thinks there's something to the way Jihoon nudges him, like a frustrated parent trying to get their child to take their first wobbly steps without clinging to the couch. Like he _genuinely_ wants Seungcheol to do better.

Fuck, that would explain a lot.

“Maybe I’m too stupid, or just too tired to understand your science mumbo jumbo, but can we just please go back to sleep now, and I promise I’ll reconsider letting you conduct your crazy experiment when I’ve had time to think about it.” Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon seems to be pleased with the suggestion of _‘sleep now, maybe science later’_ and dimples at him. “Okay.”

Seungcheol straightens up with a sigh, “Great. C’mon.”

He’s halfway across the kitchen before he realises Jihoon doesn’t seem to be following him. Twisting his head, he sees the petite Alien is still seated on the counter, staring at the tiles with a disapproving frown.

“What are you waiting for?” Seungcheol turns, jerking his head towards the bedroom. “I cleared the glass—you can walk on the floor again.”

Jihoon sighs softly and gives him a _look_ from under his eyebrows. “Carry me.”

Seungcheol stares at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He tells him flatly.

Jihoon makes a rough noise like he’s too tired to argue. Then says as much. “I am _tired_.”

Seungcheol snorts, an incredulous sound, and shakes his head. “Too tired to walk the twenty feet to the bedroom, but not too tired to wake up in the middle of the night for insane science experiments?”

Jihoon makes a face like he's thinking about it. Like it wasn’t clearly _rhetorical_.

“Scientific experimentation is stimulating for my species, whereas as physical activity is not. Also—my foot hurts. I think I stood on a shard of glass.” He says quietly, slightly whiny, but still managing that tone of his that you just couldn't argue with even if you tried.

“No you didn’t, you lazy lying shit.” Seungcheol huffs, but he’s already crossing the kitchen and scooping Jihoon up off the counter in a bridal carry. Though why, he has no idea. He has no idea why he doesn't just drop Jihoon on his face somewhere and let him find his own way to bed.

When he reaches the bedroom, he’s tempted to just throw Jihoon down and let his head bounce off the mattress as payback. But his petite Alien’s eyes are already drifting shut and Seungcheol doesn’t have the heart to wake him up so cruelly.

Unlike _some_ people.

Sighing, he lays Jihoon down on the bed gently, rolling his eyes when the Alien immediately tunnels under the covers and snags his favourite pillow.

When Seungcheol kicks off his shoes and his sweats and slips under the covers, Jihoon groans an exhausted sound and snuggles against Seungcheol's chest.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that.” Seungcheol murmurs in his ear, glaring even as he slings an arm around his waist and pulls him closer.

Jihoon opens his eyes briefly, then nuzzles his face beneath Seungcheol's jaw and glows happily when Seungcheol starts stroking soothing fingers along his spine.

“Mark my words Jihoon, I’m _not_ going to be spoiling you like this when we get back to Earth.” Seungcheol complains to the ceiling.

Even as he says it, there’s an inner voice whispering in his head, telling him that it’s a huge fucking lie and he knows it.

* * *

**DAY: 835**

Seungcheol spends the better part of the next morning righting every wrong caused by Jihoon’s little gravitational mishap.

Thankfully there’s no structural damage to the station, just a lot of sensors going haywire that need recalibration, and a few dozen breakages of inconsequential items.

The smoothie maker is a lost cause unfortunately, so he can say goodbye to his daily morning protein shake—but he manages to source a few spare components from a disused hot-plate to repair the toaster at least. The entire disassembly and reassembly process takes more time and effort than he would like, but if the end result is worth the struggle and they can finally have toast again, he decides he will forgive Jihoon for trying to open a literal portal of _doom_ inside the station.

Jihoon has always been good at eliciting forgiveness without making any effort of his own.

“Uh, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol is so engrossed with trying to clean coffee off the flight deck console, he doesn’t notice the incoming video chat flicker on the screen.

“What is it now you tiny glowing bastard?” he replies, slightly annoyed at his cleaning being interfered with.

“Uh—you busy? I can call back later.”

Huffing in irritation, Seungcheol pushes away from the terminal, palm computer still whirring as he sits up in his seat—and promptly shits his pants when he sees the comm screen lit up with Jeonghan’s worried face.

“Hannie—hey—” He chuckles awkwardly, trying to spare a glance around the flight deck discreetly to ascertain Jihoon’s whereabouts. He’s not there— _thank god—_ so Seungcheol straightens himself up and offers Jeonghan a more genuine smile. “This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting another face to face this month. What can I do you for?”

“Well, a few things actually.” Jeonghan says, eyeing him, equal parts concerned and curious. “First of all—we recorded a few pretty strange readings from the station last night.”

The muscles in Seungcheol's neck twinge with the effort of keeping still, because of course Central would have been alerted to the random gravity fluctuations onboard. Of course, they were going to ask about it. He should have seen this coming.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He says, with a hard-fought-for straight face.

“Some gravitational fluctuations the team down here are pretty excited _and_ concerned about.” Jeonghan explains. “You didn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary?”

Seungcheol pulls a puzzled expression and hopes it’s convincing, “Nope. Everything’s pretty hunky-dory as far as I’m concerned.”

“I knew it would be a false alarm.” Jeonghan snorts. He turns to yell something indecipherable at a lackey out of view of the screen, before returning to shift his attention to Seungcheol. “Guess the sensors are faulty.”

“I guess.” Seungcheol parrots, scratching his head. “But—just to be safe, I’ll recalibrate them today and request upgrades in the new shipment.”

“Ah—” Jeonghan interrupts, raising a hand, “Which leads me to the _second_ reason I called. There aren’t going to _be_ anymore shipments.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes suspiciously, “And why’s that?”

Jeonghan looks pained for a split-second before a more sedate expression takes over.

It doesn’t take a genius to know he’d not heralding good news.

“The council had a meeting yesterday, and they’ve decided that as of 30th of June, Central will be ceasing all deep space observational missions in your sector. It’s unfortunate, but in light of the recent losses on Novis Initiis III, there have been considerable financial restraints to contend with, and some missions need to be prioritised over others.”

The implications ignite anger, incandescent beneath Seungcheol's skin, and only long practice lets him measures his tone and answer blandly. 

“Hannie, is this a round-about way of saying I’ve lost my job?”

Jeonghan, with his godawful dissembling skills, immediately looks guilty.

“No, no—” He is quick to protest. Then he seems to double back on his assurances with a grimace, “Well not _exactly_.”

“ _Right_.” Seungcheol drawls, dubious.

He’s been following the events of the Novis Initiis III disaster since the story broke, and he’s heard about the financial settlements Central have had to make to the colonist’s families. The CEO was forced to resign over the tragedy, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for some people. There are still protests taking place, calls for a complete restructuring of the company and tighter safeguards to prevent a disaster like this from ever happening again. And even with his own high-level clearance Seungcheol suspects there are internal layers of hostility he’s not been privy to—there always is with huge trillion-dollar companies like Central.

“Listen Seungcheol,” Jeonghan begins, lowering his voice confidentially, “I’ll be honest with you—things aren’t going well down here at the moment. But there’s always a position for someone with your skill level.”

“Uh huh—sure.”

“Thing is—” Jeonghan hesitates, struggling for the right words. He runs an agitated hand through his hair, then sighs, “You _are_ one of the highest paid pilots on the payroll.”

“With good reason—” Seungcheol butts in, bitterly surprised that his tone comes out so defensive. 

“True, true. But any relocation package we can offer in this current financial climate would _possibly_ result in a noticeable salary reduction. But if you’re open to the idea of a transfer—” Jeonghan holds up a finger.

“I’m not.” Seungcheol interjects.

Jeonghan blinks at him, slowly lowering his hand, “Huh?”

Seungcheol looks away, jaw set. He exhales slowly. 

“I have a pretty good severance package with my contract. Last I checked it was what? Ten times my annual salary? That’s a pretty good deal.” He admits with a shrug. “I could quit while I’m ahead and live off that lump sum easily for the rest of my life.”

Shaking his head slightly, Jeonghan leans forward to whisper, “Seungcheol—you’re only 27. And okay, things are not looking _promising_ at the moment, but there’s no saying they won’t get better. Do you really want your career with Central to end _now_?”

“Sounds like it already has.” Seungcheol mutters.

Ending the chat, he slumps back in his seat and exhales a slow, tired breath.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Seungcheol’s still sitting on the flight deck, glaring a hole into the hull. Pondering, he would say if asked. Sulking is maybe a more accurate description, when suddenly Jihoon comes bursting onto the flight deck, wide eyed and breathless in a way that only scientific discovery can ever explain. 

“What have you done now?” Seungcheol growls at him, because it's—he checks his wristwatch—two in the afternoon and that's much too early, or possibly late, for whatever this is.

Jihoon takes a moment to catch his breath—wow, he must have actually ran all the way here—before he pads closer to where Seungcheol is seated.

“Is everything okay? Are _you_ okay Seungcheol?” Jihoon’s voice is surprisingly careful, in a way Seungcheol's not used to. 

And before Seungcheol even has a chance to open his mouth to reply, Jihoon’s at his side, touching his cheek, the side of his neck, brushing hair off his forehead and staring intently into his eyes.

“You don’t appear to be injured, or ill—but your biosensor readings triggered an alarm on my tricorder. It noted that you were distressed, angry and sad all at once, and I was worried something happened. Did…did something happen? Are you planning on ejecting yourself from the air lock? Please do not eject yourself from the air lock Seungcheol, that would make me very sad.” He murmurs. His tone is light, but he's watching Seungcheol with super worried eyes.

Seungcheol looks away and stares out the viewport, trying to hang onto his anger and feeling it trickle through his fingers with the force of Jihoon’s concern for him.

“It’s nothing Jihoonie, really. I’m just a little pissed that I’ve been laid off.”

“Laid off?” Jihoon echoes, following his gaze slowly. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“It _means_ ….I’m losing my job.” Seungcheol explains.

When that explanation is met with more worried confusion, he elaborates, “Central are doing some restructuring to salvage their finances after that colony fiasco, and the choices I’ve been given aren’t really choices at all. I don’t really know why I’m complaining to be honest, I’ve been looking for an easy out since I joined and now it’s been handed to me. I should be happy I can just bow out and get paid for it.”

New understanding filters over Jihoon’s face and he shrugs, a strange human gesture he’s picked up from him.

“Losing your designation is difficult. It is understandable that you would be upset, even if you weren’t completely satisfied with your role. Everyone longs for a purpose.” He says, with the strangely relevant sagacity Seungcheol has come to expect from now and again. He ruins it a second later by adding, “But you are highly skilled in your field Seungcheol, and very muscular with impressive biceps—it stands to reason you will find another designation soon enough.”

Seungcheol snorts, and slouches back in his seat, “ _Yeah_ , I don’t know if I can put ‘impressive biceps’ in my resume and expect to be taken seriously.”

“No bother. I know what will make you feel better Seungcheol.” Jihoon whispers at him excitedly, which must involve climbing into his lap and framing his face gently—because that’s what Jihoon does.

"Uhh," Seungcheol swallows tightly. “What's that?”

“Let’s watch pornography together.” Jihoon says in an almost hushed tone, “I know you enjoyed that immensely.”

Seungcheol forces himself not to blush. “That’s uh….” He hesitates, but makes himself follow through. “This isn’t really a porn watching occasion Jihoon.”

Jihoon blinks at him. “It isn’t?”

“No, I mean, _maybe_ …for _some_ people. I’m not really in the mood though, no offence to you or anything. I just—” Seungcheol pauses to rub a hand over his face. “This is kind of a veg in front of the television with Ben and Jerry moment for me.”

“Ben and Jerry?” Jihoon echoes, nose wrinkling with what appears to be indignation. “You have not introduced me to these people. Where are they? Have they been hiding on the station?”

Seungcheol tips his head back and laughs, “No Jihoon, Ben and Jerry aren’t _people_. It’s a brand of ice-cream.”

He can see understanding dawn in Jihoon’s gaze. 

“Ooh—the frozen dairy treat. I’ve read much about it and am very keen in exploring the concept further if given the opportunity.”

Seungcheol shifts him off his lap and stands, working out the pins and needles in his legs. “Lets get you some then, shall we?”

* * *

Surprisingly, the ice-cream does nothing to improve his mood, and unsurprisingly Jihoon ends up eating most of it, all the while recording his observations of the experience into his tricorder.

Seungcheol sprawls out on the couch and tries to clear his mind by watching TV for a while, but it’s difficult when the shaky reception is intent on ruining every single channel and Jihoon is interrupting him every five minutes with crap like:

“Despite my initial alarm, I can now conclude that there are in fact no primates in my Chunky Monkey iced-cream, and that the name choice is merely based on the association of Bananas with said mammal. I hope to conduct a similar analysis on the flavour ‘Fish Food’.”

“I’d love to live in your head for a day.” Seungcheol grunts, stabbing the remote, “No, no—even just twenty minutes would be enough. I wouldn’t get much done, but it must be nice to find the simplest shit interesting.”

Jihoon pouts, an expression Seungcheol catches in his peripheral vision, then he clicks his tricorder off and sets it down out of sight.

“You still seem rather despondent Seungcheol. I fear the iced cream did not help.”

“Maybe that’s because _you_ ate most of it.” Seungcheol drawls, waving a hand in the direction of the empty tub he only got two spoonful’s of before Jihoon whisked it away for ‘analysis’.

Jihoon huffs something annoyed, then scoots towards the centre of the couch, folding one leg up on the cushion beneath him. “Well, perhaps there is something else I could do to alleviate your mood?” He presses.

"I’m fine," Seungcheol answers, with as casual a shrug as he can muster. But Jihoon continues to hover at his elbow, and Seungcheol turns his head. He finds Jihoon watching him with an almost wary expression, and says, more honestly, "It’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s a shitty situation, but I’ll get over it.”

He turns back to the TV and resumes flicking through the channels, then fumbles with the remote when Jihoon’s hand hovers on the edge of his vision and gentle fingers begin trailing down his cheek.

They skim over the line of his jaw and across his chin, before Jihoon raises his hand and repeats the motion again.

There’s nothing scientific or exploratory about the touch, it’s just a lazy, considering gesture that leaves Seungcheol blinking, trying vainly to think of something to say.

“W-what are you doing?” He finally asks.

“Stroking your cheek.” Jihoon says simply.

“Okay, but… _why_?”

Jihoon makes a complicated gesture with his shoulders, but doesn’t stop stroking his cheek. “You are always taking care of me when I am unhappy about things. I wish to take care of you too.”

Seungcheol snorts, pride prickling at the implication that he needs to be taken care of. Though Jihoon obviously feels responsible for cheering him up, and if he's going to make a habit of this then maybe Seungcheol should just cash in now and have him do shit around the station. Shit that would make his life easier, like cooking and cleaning and baking him an apple pie whenever he wants it. 

Except, by someone’s definition that would probably be taking advantage of Jihoon’s good intentions, and Seungcheol never wants to be _that_ asshole. Besides, it’s not Jihoon’s fault he’s feeling down, and definitely not his responsibility to make it all better, and Seungcheol says as much.

“I’m fine Jihoonie, really. And it’s not your job to take care of me. I’m a big boy—I can take care of myself.”

Jihoon stops rubbing his cheek briefly to pull a face at him, like he doesn’t approve of that conclusion to the conversation at all.

“But isn’t that’s what people do when they live together? They _care_ for each other. I want to do that for you—and I _know_ there are things I can do to make you feel better. Won’t you let me?” He says at last, in a voice that sounds like a plea.

Seungcheol blinks at him, irritation warring with bewilderment. Until the pieces fall together in slow but undeniable clarity. He reaches up and covers Jihoon's hand on his face, stilling the wandering motion of his fingers and says with far more air and bit than he intends, “Are you… _reading_ my mind right now?”

The heartbeat thumping under the edge of Seungcheol’s thumb beats a little faster, until Seungcheol uncurls his own fingers from around Jihoon's wrist and lets his hand drop.

"No Seungcheol,” Jihoon mutters, hands slipping free. “I don’t _need_ to read your mind to know you are sad.”

Seungcheol squints at him, but he seems to be telling the truth.

"But you have read my mind before, right? You can do it whenever you like, right?” He asks, or rather demands. Because much as he knows Jihoon isn't a magic trick to be 'ta da-ed' in front of a live audience, he'd still like to know what exactly he's capable of.

“I try not to observe your thoughts unless the situation calls for it," Jihoon says carefully. Which Seungcheol recognises as telling him exactly as much as he needs to know and no more.

"That is in no way reassuring Jihoon. _My_ idea of the situation calling for it and _your_ idea of it calling for it, are probably vastly different."

Jihoon raises an eyebrow as if it has honestly never occurred to him, then seems to dismiss the suggestion with the shake of his head, “I have only glimpsed at your thoughts occasionally, in the beginning—when I wished to learn more about you. But when you expressed your dislike of such an intrusion, I wanted to respect that, so I stopped. It has been some time since I have glimpsed at your thoughts.”

“Good, glad to hear it.” Seungcheol nods, turning his attention back to the TV. A strange silence enfolds them for a moment, before he’s tempted to ask, “What am I thinking right now?”

Jihoon looks at him with widening eyes, “But—”

“I’m giving you permission this time.” Seungcheol interjects, then clears his mind and tries to think of something innocuous.

He thinks of his last time on Earth. A trip to the seaside with his family.

It had been a cool, grey day, but that hadn’t stopped him from swimming for most of it. He’d wanted to experience the sense memory of salt and sea and sand before boarding his flight and losing it all for three years. It’s a good memory—a nice one of a nice day, and it’s one he’d clung too tightly before Jihoon appeared in his life, when the loneliness was still plaguing him.

"You're thinking about …swimming, on a beach," Jihoon tells him, carefully, a soft smile breaking out over his face like he’s capable of sharing in the joy of the memory.

Seungcheol grins, because it's true. “Not gonna lie—that’s a—that’s a pretty cool skill Jihoon.”

Jihoon makes a quiet noise, considering—then he blinks. “Now you’re thinking of…..giant talking French fries.”

Seungcheol ducks his head sheepishly, because that’s true too. His brain has never done what it's told, and impossibly weird tangential thoughts pop up out of nowhere when he’s not focusing. It occurs to him that an advanced Alien species like Jihoon’s might not understand exactly how little control he has over his own thoughts. That he may even be _judged_ for it.

"You know human beings can't help what they think, right? It's all brain stuff, just lots of random crap that occurs to us, most of which we wouldn't even admit to. Sometimes dumb stuff that means nothing, or just distracting things. Like giant French fries and wrestling sharks and—"

_Smearing sun-screen all over Jihoon’s lovely pale skin, so he doesn’t burn under the sun. Then rolling him over onto his belly to rub it into his back, and letting his hands drift lower over his ass and pushing down the obscenely tight swimming shorts he’s decided to wear that day, and slipping his fingers in—_

Seungcheol tenses in his seat.

He really hopes Jihoon isn't listening to his thoughts anymore because that was _filthy_. Pure filthy and obscene and certified 18+ and he's very nearly almost ashamed of himself for thinking it.

He chances a quick glance at Jihoon and finds the Alien is still looking at him with that curious expression, only now his mouth has fallen open and his eyes are just a _little_ wider. Seungcheol would take it for Jihoon’s usual inquisitive nature except for how his ears have gone red like a traffic light, crimson and almost effulgent in the late afternoon light slanting over the rec room.

"You uhm…” Seungcheol clears his throat awkwardly. “You heard that, didn't you?"

There's a long pause, as if Jihoon isn't sure whether he's allowed to admit to it. The he shuts his mouth, eyes sliding away, just a little, and Seungcheol knows he has.

_Oh—crap._

Mortified beyond measure, Seungcheol grits his teeth and redirects his gaze, thinking a repetitive litany of _shit-shit-shit-shit._ He watches the bad reception on the TV for a minute and wonders if he can teach Jihoon the art of _'this never happened and we will never speak of it again.'_

Probably not.

Oh fuck.

Why?

 _Why_ did he ask Jihoon to read his mind? And why did his mind just have to go and have dirty sexy thought about him in that very moment?

Who’s stupid enough to open themselves up to embarrassment like that?

Seungcheol searches in vain for a way to break the silence, and an instant later the effort becomes moot.

"We don’t have anything like a beach on my home planet. I think I would quite like to visit one." Jihoon says slowly, and there's a careful uncertainty under the words. Like he's not sure if it's the right thing to say, but he's suddenly compelled to say it anyway.

Seungcheol exhales flat laughter, and nods, because of course Jihoon being Jihoon is just going to continue like nothing supremely _weird_ just happened between them.

“Yeah, I think you’d like it. We have lots of beautiful beaches on Earth, and there’s one not too far from where I live that I like to visit when I’m home-side.”

“Maybe you could take me there one day.” Jihoon says softly, hopefully, “It looks like lots of….… _fun_.”

It’s on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue to agree, say something along the lines of _‘Sure, I’ll take you anywhere you want’,_ except he looks over then and finds Jihoon staring at him intently from so damn close, through eyes that are so blue it's unnatural and Seungcheol thinks maybe that they’re not talking about the beach _at all_ anymore.

Maybe?

_Well….shit._

* * *

When Jihoon starts what looks like it's going to be a new science project on the living room floor, Seungcheol goes to bed.

He lays in the dark and lets the hyperactive rustle of paper from the next room lull him to sleep.

It doesn't feel like any time at all before a crack of light slants across his face and he's dragged back to something resembling wakefulness.

Opening his eyes, he can't even make out the layout of the room, but he knows if Jihoon's deemed it fit to wake him, he won't go away until he at least _attempts_ to be coherent.

"You okay Hoonie?" he asks.

He's expecting the usual, _‘Look at this paperclip chain I made, isn’t it magnificent?’_ or Jihoon's desperate need for an unbiased observer at two in the morning, or possibly there's been some sort of horrible accident involving the mainframe because fuck only knows what Jihoon gets up to while Seungcheol's asleep that he _doesn't_ find out about.

He's _not_ expecting the quiet rustle of clothing, and Jihoon to climb under the covers with him.

“Heading to bed already? Little early for—" Seungcheol’s cut off abruptly, because it's very hard to finish sentences when someone's trying to kiss you.

It's very hard when most of your body is still asleep, _not_ to kiss back.

There should be an awkwardness about it, but Jihoon is perfectly precise in his attention, not to mention _intent._ His fingers are at Seungcheol’s jaw, and his lips are moving against Seungcheol’s with a sharp, abrupt confidence that takes Seungcheol's breath away. Jihoon's tongue is licking into his mouth, teasing Seungcheol's lower lip, delving deep enough to lay unmistakable claim, and Seungcheol just opens wider and accepts everything Jihoon is offering.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised that his Spaceboy is suddenly an amazing kisser, but he's surprised enough that he does nothing for a possibly incriminating length of time. Until everything starts sliding perilously towards inappropriate. Because Jihoon apparently takes dumbfounded bewilderment as permission.

Finally, Seungcheol manages to wake up enough to wonder what on Earth he's doing, and to try his best to untangle them.

"Jihoon. What—I—why would—are you—what?"

Awesome. He's become completely incoherent.

"What are you doing?" he manages, because that, at least, is a full sentence.

"Comforting you.” Jihoon whispers, before he leans in again, more curious, mouth softer.

Seungcheol doesn't push him away. Doesn't even _try_ —though he wonders if he should, but the very idea of putting a stop to this seems wrong. Surprising, sure—but also sort of _inevitable_? Inevitable and hot and open and wet, and when Jihoon draws back too soon Seungcheol's head is spinning with frustrated want.

"You’re kissing me." Seungcheol says simply.

He doesn't know how his voice still sounds so sensible. He thinks that should have come out more scandalised.

“Yes.” Jihoon whispers, resting his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “And now I am cuddling you. I am led to believe this comforts your species. Are my deductions incorrect?”

“No—it’s uh. Just—I uh—” Seungcheol trails off—hesitant. He knows being lured into conversation is never a good idea with Jihoon. Jihoon is far too good at explaining things and making them sound perfectly sensible when they're absolutely not. The right answer here would be to just roll over to the other side of the bed and not say a damn thing.

But before he can do that, Jihoon’s shifting against him, leg sliding over his thigh and—

“And you’re _naked_.” Seungcheol croaks, heart hammering noisily in his chest.

“Yes. Your powers of observation are exemplary.” Jihoon says. There's a lilt to the comment which suggests Jihoon is attempting sarcasm with him. But Seungcheol's in no mood to be teased. He's also in no mood to have an argument while Jihoon's naked in his bed— _cuddling him_.

He just _can't_.

He tries to make a protesting noise, but it comes out as mostly air. He tries for a protesting face instead. “So—the nakedness is _deliberate_?”

Jihoon’s weight shifts, just a little as he wraps an arm around Seungcheol’s neck. “Yes. My research indicates that nudity in one of two people increases intimacy levels by 37% in humans, and by up to 85% when both parties are naked.” He explains. As if that will magically make this ok. “Perhaps you should remove your clothing too—so we can achieve optimum intimacy levels and improve your mood at a faster rate.”

Seungcheol drags a hand over his face, “No, uh—I can’t do that Jihoon.”

Anyone else in the world would know that without having to be told. Anyone in the world would understand that. Or would at least understand the mind-boggling inappropriateness of it.

Jihoon on the other hand, remains unphased.

“As you wish. But if the cuddling doesn’t improve your disposition, I have studied several sexual acts that I can perform on you. My analysis indicates that human males exhibit a post-coital lassitude due to the release of endorphins. So if you’re still unable to relax and having displeasing thoughts over your future, I will fellate you.”

Seungcheol's officially far more awake than he'd like to be right now.

Seriously—his eyes could _not_ be more open.

He thinks about telling Jihoon that he's doing an absolutely horrendous job of trying to make him relax. But he suspects that will come out more encouraging at this point. There's nothing like giving Jihoon a challenge to make him especially impossible.

“Jihoon—I—I really appreciate your concern, but I don’t think any of this is a good idea.”

Jihoon's answering _'hmm'_ is entirely too calculating for his liking. Though Seungcheol still doesn’t stop him—doesn't even put up a fight when Jihoon takes one of his hands and lay it on his own bare waist. It's such a careless, unsubtle gesture of intimacy, that he can't breathe for a second. Then he does, forcing himself to relax and flatten his palm over the smooth plane of skin. Skin that is invitingly warm under his bare fingers.

“That’s better.” Jihoon sighs softly, then stretches out a leg, and slips it between Seungcheol’s thighs. Like he has no intention of leaving. Like he can hear Seungcheol's strange internal cynicism and is trying to quiet it, in his own way. “It takes two to cuddle, and I was beginning to feel like I was doing all the hard work.”

“This is such a bad idea.” Seungcheol manages through his teeth, while his fingers twitch, and then tighten where they lay.

Jihoon giggles, sounding a little _too_ amused by Seungcheol's obvious discomfort.

“Yes, yes—your objections have been noted Seungcheol. Though I don’t see _why_ you are objecting at all, when your body is clearly finding our current position so—"He pauses, hand drifting over the bulge in Seungcheol’s underwear. “— _stimulating_.” He points out, a little too smugly.

Seungcheol will admit that he has him there.

His dick _is_ interested.

More than interested actually—it’s tenting the seam of his boxers and pushing up against Jihoon’s hand in a way that’s curiously hopeful. Seungcheol quickly drags Jihoon’s hand away from his lap until that isn't quite so obvious.

“My dick has a mind of its own, okay. I’m not responsible for its behaviour.” He complains at the ceiling.

“Well perhaps you should listen to it.” Jihoon suggests, breath tickling the underside of Seungcheol’s jaw. “It, at least, is not afraid about what it wants.” He adds, sliding his hand down again to palm at Seungcheol’s stupidly hardening dick for emphasis.

“And what is it that _you_ want exactly?” Seungcheol asks, dragging the offending appendage away again, because he’d really like to know why Jihoon’s on a quest to redefine the nature of their relationship suddenly.

He’d hate for all this to be another one of Jihoon’s strange momentary whims, that can only be satisfied by hands on experimentation. But if he doesn't ask, he's not sure he will ever know, and he refuses to take this somewhere greedy. To not find out for sure.

Jihoon tilts his head, curious and surprised. “I thought that was obvious….I want to make you happy Seungcheol. And I know this will make you happy.”

Seungcheol frowns confusion, “Is that it? Is that why you’re doing all this, because _I_ want to?” He asks, or maybe accuses—his pulse is going too fast for quiet words.

Jihoon does nothing but blink up at him quietly.

It's like he doesn’t understand Seungcheol’s uncertainty, and he's waiting for Seungcheol to come to some decision. Or waiting for him to refuse to make one. There's no judgment there. Just the sense that he'll accept anything Seungcheol decides to do, anything at all.

It occurs to Seungcheol then that just because Jihoon kissed him, that he’s ready to do freaky shit with him, doesn't mean he _wants_ this. He's an Alien and there's still that sense of remoteness, of asexuality. Seungcheol doesn't know if Jihoon wants to be kissed like this, to be touched, hell, he doesn't even know if his species are even capable of sex. Or even if his physiology allows it.

When it boils down to it, all Seungcheol knows is that Jihoon’s ready to try all of it, because he knows _Seungcheol_ wants to. Because he’s had a glimpse into Seungcheol’s dirty, lusty mind.

Yeah, there’s curiosity and interest in Jihoon’s actions, perhaps a little eagerness too—but the desire for intimacy is not reciprocated and _that_ —

That’s the biggest punch in the gut.

“I—I gotta go.” Seungcheol says, shoving the sheets aside and reaching for his pants.

“Where?” Jihoon huffs, sitting upright. He glances over at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and then looks at Seungcheol again, one eyebrow raised. “You have no tasks scheduled at this hour.”

“It’s uh—a classified task. Just came down from Central this morning. Very important, highly classified, need to know sort of stuff.” Seungcheol lies, while he shoves his way into his pants and finds a shirt.

It’s hardly convincing, but Seungcheol’s almost sure he’s gotten away with it until Jihoon tips his head back, lifts an eyebrow, and gives him a _look_. There's a mix of curiosity and amusement in his expression.

Clearly, he knows the phantom task is bullshit, but he doesn’t call Seungcheol out.

“Okay. Complete your task quickly and return, so I can pleasure you orally.”

Seungcheol flees the room without another word, because it’s hard to _think_ and _breathe_ , let alone form coherent sentences when you don’t have enough blood running to your brain anymore.

He’s got to be some kind of fucking saint not to have taken advantage of _that_ opportunity. 


	7. Recallibration

DAY: 837

Seungcheol does his best to avoid Jihoon the following morning, as much as one can avoid the only other inhabitant of a huge, empty space station.

He catches up on lost sleep on one of the foamy mats in the gym, showers there too—he dons yesterday’s clothes so he doesn’t have to return to his room and he’s got enough protein bars stashed on the flight deck that he could continue to avoid Jihoon for a whole week—if he so desired.

It probably isn't an approach that the Central manual would recommend, but hey, Seungcheol’s not going to be employed by them for much longer so fuck them.

Jihoon seems content enough to be avoided, or perhaps he just doesn't notice? Too consumed by his analysis of whatever has taken his interest today.

This radio silence isn't sustainable though, because it’s only a matter of time before someone needs a fresh change of underwear, and someone need someone to make someone a cheese sandwich and a hot chocolate.

At last, though, Jihoon corners him on the flight deck.

Okay, fine, so it's less cornering and more like a simple request to enter. Either way, Seungcheol feels trapped.

"May I have a moment, Seungcheol?" Jihoon asks quietly from the doorway. 

Seungcheol shoves a hand through his hair and forces himself not to look at Jihoon for long enough to swear under his breath.

In the back of his mind, he must have known he couldn't put this off forever, but he was kind of hoping they could ignore it for at least one day. Or at least long enough for him to forget how hard he’d been last night when a naked Jihoon sprawled all over him like he had nowhere better to be; the silk of his cock slipping along the crease of Seungcheol’s thigh, like an offer of more.

"Sure." Seungcheol finally says, sounding much less begrudging about it than he actually feels. He drops his data-pad on the console and spins to face Jihoon, blinking when he finds the petite Alien standing in the doorway, decked out in his old space suit/straps.

He looks like that ethereal Spaceboy that pulled him out of the abyss once again, and Seungcheol finds himself staring a little.

“Why—why are you wearing that again?”

There is a quiet moment where Jihoon just looks at him. It isn't a smug look, or a curious look. It’s just a tired look, something quietly sad.

There is a sigh on the end of it.

“I—I wish to extend an apology.”

Seungcheol is still somewhat distracted by the sight of Jihoon’s body criss-crossed in white straps, but somehow he manages to make the appropriate response. “Apology for what?”

“For last night.” Jihoon swallows hard enough for Seungcheol to see the movement. “I checked your biosensor readings this morning, and I realise I made you uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than you already were, wish was not what I intended. Despite all the evidence that exists to the contrary, I clearly miscalculated your response to my gesture of intimacy. I was expecting you to enjoy it—but you did not.”

“It’s okay Jihoon.” Seungcheol dismisses quickly, then hesitates, because he's not quite sure how to phrase the 'I did enjoy it—that’s not the problem’ without Jihoon getting all...incisive about it.

“It is not Okay.” Jihoon says, looking physically pained. “My hypothesis was flawed, and if the current trajectory of your emotional status is to be believed, then you will continue to become more hesitant and watchful around me, until we no longer communicate and or you eject me from the station via the airlock.”

“What! I would never do that.” Seungcheol gapes at him.

Jihoon stares back at him, sadly, “My research says otherwise.”

“Your research is clearly full of shit.” Seungcheol says, missing exasperated by a mile.

Jihoon’s face crumples like he’s been physically struck, “I am beginning to see that, as it has made me err grievously.”

Seungcheol looks away, feeling a traitorous swell of guilt; he accepts now that avoidance was the worst tactic to use against Jihoon.

“You did not err grievously, okay. This is not that big a deal. Can we just move past it, and go back to the way things were?”

The suggestion earns him what he assumes is a sceptical look—it's difficult to tell under the circumstances—and a gruff, “Do not dismiss my failure so easily Seungcheol. I have clearly, as you humans say—made things awkward between us. And to prevent more awkwardness from arising, I think it is best for me to…for me to leave.”

Seungcheol’s heart clutches unhappily at the grim certainty in Jihoon's voice.

“What are you—” He tries, feeling stunned, jaw working uselessly when Jihoon cuts him off.

“Thank you for your gracious hospitality Seungcheol—I will never forget it. I—I wish you the best in your future endeavours and a safe journey to your home planet when the time comes.” He gives Seungcheol a formal nod and departs, the doors sliding smoothly closed after him.

Seungcheol stares for a moment, speechless, dumbfounded—before he’s scrambling out of his seat and following him with a furious, “Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Jihoon’s a speedy little shit when he wants to be, and by the time Seungcheol catches up with him, he’s already made it to the cargo deck, already typing the access code into the keypad.

Seungcheol overrides the command from a second keypad across the room, startling Jihoon when the [ACCESS DENIED] warning flashes at him. Then he just goes ahead and re-sets the code to biometric access only, changes it so that Jihoon will have to sever Seungcheol’s fucking hand off and poke out his eyeball if he wants to leave that badly, because no—just no. 

He shares that thought out loud too, because Jihoon needs to hear the word at least once in his life.

“No, Jihoon—no.” He snaps, striding across the cargo bay, tired and more than a little peeved off that Jihoon’s seen fit to punish him like this. 

His irritation only doubles when he comes to a stop a few feet away, and finds a box sitting by the doors to the airlock. It’s a small storage box he’d given Jihoon during one of his insane ‘I’m going to grow my own cola’ experiments—except now it’s filled with the scarce few items Jihoon brought onboard, as well as a box of paperclips, a can of cola and the gifts Seungcheol gave him for Christmas.

“Jesus—” Seungcheol breathes, rubbing both hands over his face. “You actually packed. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Jihoon reaches down to lift for the box, then hesitates—straightens slowly. His hands twitch uncertainly at his sides, and he quickly folds them behind his back, looking more than a little self-conscious as he says, “Thank you for the items you have gifted me, the paperclips especially. If I am permitted to return to my homeland, I believe my people will find much use for them.”

“Jihoon—you’re not leaving.” Seungcheol says firmly, as if saying 'no' to Jihoon is just that easy. He may be delusional now.

“The Coca-Cola will also be greatly received—” Jihoon continues like he hasn’t spoken. “And I can only hope I will abstain from temptation long enough to allow our scientists to replicate its secret formula. If they succeed—I believe I will be hailed a hero.”

Seungcheol rubs the bridge of his nose, feeling a sharp pang of frustration in his gut, “How are you even planning on leaving? Your ship is broken.”

Jihoon’s cheeks colour faintly.

“I never said it was broken—” He confesses in a rush. Then in a more measured tone: “It is simply…damaged. It will still be capable of flight as long as I avoid hyperspace travel. I am certain I can find the necessary resources to repair it elsewhere and then I will be able to return to my universe.”

Seungcheol doesn't know how the hell any of that’s going to work—but it's not a question he's likely to ask anytime soon. His jaw clenches and he barely stifles a growl of frustration. “Fine—but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re not leaving.”

“You cannot stop me.”

Stubbornness echoes in Jihoon's words, alongside polite exasperation, but his blue eyes hold a flash of panic that ties Seungcheol's guts up in knots.

“Sure I can—” He laughs, short and sharp, stepping closer, “I may not have put my foot down about a lot of stuff before. In fact, I’ve let you run around here opening black holes and experimenting on my stuff like it’s nobody’s business, but here—here is where I put my fucking foot down Jihoon. Because there is no fucking way, no fucking way in hell that I am letting you—"

Seungcheol freezes mid rant when he moves close enough to catch sight of the tears streaming down Jihoon’s face.

“Oh fuck—” He breathes, immediately remorseful, “Are you crying?”

“No!” Jihoon huffs, quickly turning away so he’s only visible in profile, “I am incapable of such trivial, human emotions. I am merely venting aqueous matter from my eye ducts in preparation for my journey.” He sniffs, and then his shoulders slope horribly downwards, devastatingly hurt. “It’s common practice amongst my species, please don’t pay it any attention.”

Seungcheol feels suddenly sick.

He crowds closer, hesitant to touch, but worried all the same.

“Shit. You are crying.”

“No, I’m not.” Jihoon croaks, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, leaving a smear of shimmer across his cheeks.

There’s not much that makes Seungcheol do a double take these days, but if he’s not mistaken—if he looks very closely—he can see little specks of glitter shimmering beneath the wetness of Jihoon’s tears.

Glitter.

Fucking glitter.

Jihoon’s tears are composed of tiny, minuscule glitter particles. Which would be beautiful really, truly a sight to behold, if Seungcheol wasn’t half-way sure he’s actually lost his fucking mind. Because who cries glitter? Nobody—that’s who. Seungcheol’s officially lost his fucking marbles—he’s clearly been out here far too long if he’s dreaming up a beautiful, ethereal creature who glows like a star and cries glitter and wants to sleep with him to make him happy.

Nobody’s that lucky in real life—unless the Universe has seen fit to reward him somehow. And maybe that’s just it? Maybe Jihoon is Seungcheol’s magnetic hill, where nothing is what it appears, where reality is stranger than a dream, and even gravity seems to be working against you.

Maybe.

“And you’re crying glitter too.” Seungcheol says, voice hushed in awe as he looks on, transfixed. “That—that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Another glittery beads streaks down Jihoon’s cheek, and he turns away towards the door, shoulders shaking. 

“I am glad my venting of aqueous matter has brought you happiness. You deserve to be gay.”

Seungcheol blinks at him, confused, then shakes his head to clear it.

“What? No—not that kind of gay. Jesus, just—come here.” He sighs, catching Jihoon by the elbow and reeling him in.

Jihoon seems to wilt then, as if the rapid-fire intensity of everything that has happened in the last few minutes hits him all at once, and he allows Seungcheol to drag him into a hug, without a trace of resistance, only a loud sob.

* * *

It takes the better part of an hour to calm Jihoon down. Almost an hour to soothe his hysterical cat-like Alien wailing into wobbly sobbing, and the wobbly sobbing into barely contained sniffles, peppered every now and then with a hiccupped ‘Cheol’ muffled against Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol had at least managed to manoeuvre them into the bedroom and onto the bed, so Jihoon could cry at his leisure while Seungcheol whispered assurances and stroked his hair back with one hand, over and over again. But Jihoon’s been crying so hard for so long that by the time he’s all out of tears, Seungcheol’s shirt is covered in so much glitter he could open his own fucking craft shop. 

Honestly—Seungcheol thinks, imagining what this tableau must seem like to an outside observer—It’s like trying to console a very sad disco ball.

“I do not deserve your compassion.” Jihoon sniffs quietly. His normal happy yellow glow is flickering in an out like his internal battery has been depleted, “I do not deserve the cuddles—”

“Yes, you do.” Seungcheol laughs, stroking a soothing hand down Jihoon’s spine, “You deserve all the cuddles.”

“No, I don’t.” Jihoon huffs, petulantly. “Not after my attempts at intimacy made you uncomfortable.”

Seungcheol exhales a little sharply, dispelling the frisson of anxiety that always presages a rare fit of true honesty on his part.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable Jihoon—I just, I was just annoyed that you instigated it just because I clearly wanted something.” He tries to explain, and immediately hating the way that comes out, adds, “When someone wants to be intimate with someone else, they usually want that other person to feel the same. They don’t want sex from someone who feels obligated to have it because it will make them happy. You don’t owe me anything Jihoon. Regardless of what thoughts or scenarios you’ve glimpsed inside my head—you don’t have to do things with me because I want them. It would turn anything we have into something wrong, dirty—and not the good kind of dirty. You know what I mean?”

He only realizes that those words make even less sense when Jihoon tilts his head and scowls. “No.”

Seungcheol puffs out a frustrated breath. This is why he hates words– they're never adequate.

“Listen Jihoon, what I’m trying to say is—sex should be consensual—”

“I am consenting.” Jihoon interjects, expression falling serious.

“No, you’re willing—that doesn’t mean you want it.” Seungcheol says roughly, and however relaxed he was before he's now taut as wire. Shaking his head and painting over the words with harder ones of his own. “You might be willing to try something, but if you’re just doing it for someone else’s sake, it’s not consensual. We need to be reading off the same page, but last night it felt like we were reading two completely separate books. Or I was reading a book, and you were reading a magazine, upside down and in a different language.”

Jihoon’s expression doesn’t seem to agree with him, and he says as much.

“I fail to see how your analogy applies to this situation.”

Seungcheol lets his eyes fall shut with a deflated sigh; he’s all out of words—not that it did him a lot of good anyway.

“I don’t know how else to explain it.” He says finally, biting down on the inside of his lower lip. “I guess, the simplest way of putting it is—I wanted you to want me too.”

“But I do want you.” Jihoon protests, hand briefly spreading on Seungcheol’s chest, like it wants to touch all of him at once. His fingertips play along Seungcheol’s collarbone and his lips settle just below Seungcheol’s ear, warm and damp, “I wanted to have sex with you, and I instigated that moment last night because I read your thoughts, and I finally had proof that you were open to such intimacy with me.”

Seungcheol shakes his head ruefully, “But you weren’t turned on like I was, you weren’t—”

He’s half-way to an argument protesting that, when Jihoon shifts and suddenly there’s a smooth, insistent hardness pressing against Seungcheol’s hip.

Oh—He thinks, making a quiet noise of discovery.

He scrounges up enough focus to open his eyes and look down between their bodies, and his breath catches at the sight that greets him. The straps of Jihoon’s space suit, almost blinding in their whiteness, are surprisingly tented in the middle, outlining the small, but undeniably stiff length of Jihoon's cock.

Seungcheol stares, caught somewhere between surprise and relief; between the oppressive blackness of space beyond the viewport and the dull slate safety of the station; between the calloused tan of his palm against the pale smoothness of Jihoon's skin—locked directly between more possibilities than he had strength to imagine.

Something hot and hungry twists low in his gut because it’s clear now that this isn’t just some behavioural experiment. This isn’t Jihoon walking blindly into inappropriate territory. This is Jihoon, aroused and excited and about as interested in taking things further as he is.

Well—damn.

Jihoon makes a small, shocked noise as Seungcheol brings their mouths together, but rather than pull away in confusion, like Seungcheol's half-expecting, he pushes himself right up against Seungcheol, climbing into his lap.

It's a little fast and a lot shocking, but Seungcheol runs with it, slips his tongue along Jihoon’s lower lip and then into his mouth when those lips part in a shuddery sigh.

They trade long, deep, liquid kisses, tongues sliding together, lips slipping and catching, smearing wet and obscenely slow across open wet mouths; kisses that aren't really kisses, but instead hungry licks and sucking bites; and kisses that are almost chaste, simple presses of swollen, aching lips.

It’s good—so good, but it’s frantic, rushed. And when their half-hard cocks rub together, Seungcheol’s mind reels; he has to get a grip on Jihoon’s hips for fear that the world might spin away underneath him.

“Easy—easy—” He murmurs, biting just below Jihoon collarbone, nipping up his throat, nudging his head back so he can kiss the underside of his chin and suck there just short of hard enough to mark him. “Slow down baby, we got time.”

The words calm Jihoon considerably, and Seungcheol can practically feel the hungry intensity seep from his body. 

The hand that isn't tangled in his shirt comes up to Seungcheol's face, fingers brush against his cheek, his jaw, his neck, feather-light touches that make Seungcheol's skin prickle, make his clothes seem too tight and too warm.

He wants nothing more than to re-set the last 24 hours. To repeat the events of last night, but erase all the insecurities that plagued him.

The first obstacle in the way is their clothing, so he eases Jihoon off his lap to reach for his belt, whips it off in record time and tosses it to the side. His dog tags come off next, handled with a little more care as he deposits them on the nightstand.

Stopping there, he turns his attention to the now impatient little Alien watching him intently, to the complicated criss-cross of straps holding his flight suit together. He’s tempted to fetch scissors to save time, but an experimental tug of one strap reveals it to be fashioned from an incredibly stretchy material. So it’s surprisingly easy to strip him, slipping the straps off his shoulders one by one, until they come loose and puddle around his waist.

Jihoon wriggles himself the rest of the way out in an oddly sensual little dance, then completely ruins the image by getting his foot caught in the last strap and almost face planting on the floor. 

Seungcheol catches him before he brains himself though, pulling him back onto the bed and laughing, while Jihoon grumbles about the disadvantages of Earth simulated gravity. 

Despite that, it’s easy to pick up where the left off—easy for Seungcheol to pull him onto his lap, to kiss him, to press his thumbs into the wells of Jihoon’s hips and feel him shudder like he’s going to come apart.

Jihoon’s hands touch him restlessly in return – shoulder, neck, cheek – like birds trying to find a safe place to land.There’s nothing safe about this, but Seungcheol’s so far beyond giving a shit anymore.

“I want it,” Jihoon mutters, wetly, against Seungcheol’s mouth, “I want you...you know that now.”

“I know,” Seungcheol hisses as their cocks brush together, trapped in the heat between them. “I want you too.”

Somewhere inside, he’s waiting for the freak-out, for sanity to kick in and remind him he’s about to fuck an Alien here, but it’s not happening. Maybe it’s all the caffeine he’s been pouring into his body, buzzing through his veins like a cheap street drug; maybe it’s adrenaline and lack of sleep; or maybe, it’s the soft, broken noise Jihoon makes when Seungcheol finally rolls them over and presses him down against the mattress. 

The way Jihoon says Seungcheol – all sticky and ragged – doesn’t give him any reason to slow down, either. Jihoon’s body is vibrating under his touch with so much energy, so much eager anticipation, that any impulse towards restraint quickly fades.

Even more persuasive is the way Jihoon looks at him once he stands and begins to strip the rest of his own clothing. He’s beautiful—gorgeous and inviting as he stretches himself out on the sheets, but there is something bright and desperate in his eyes, pleading for Seungcheol to stay close—to keep going. When Seungcheol hesitates where he stands beside the bed, there is something heart-breaking in Jihoon’s attempt to mask desperation behind a wry expression and quirked eyebrow.

“Seungcheol?”

“I’m not going anywhere Jihoon—I was just admiring the view.” Seungcheol says. He sounds calm to his own ears, but when his hands move to tug his underwear down, they're trembling just a little.

By the time they're both naked—by the time Seungcheol settles between Jihoon’s legs—by the time they are moving together in his bed, it feels almost impossible to pause. But for all that they've maneuvered with unified purpose so far, Seungcheol isn't psychic.

Anticipation still sings in his blood, shivers beneath his skin, but these circumstances are too far out of the normal bounds of their relationship—of any relationship he’s ever had—to go stumbling blindly ahead. So he stops trailing frantic kisses along Jihoon's jaw and scrounges his voice from somewhere rough and gravelled.

"Okay, how do we do this?"

"Mmm." Jihoon's hum is pleased, but it is not an answer. For a moment Seungcheol thinks he will have to ask again. Then abruptly Jihoon pushes him just far enough away to look Seungcheol in the eye, and says, "Well if you don’t know—how should I? I thought you were the expert on sexual intercourse?"

Seungcheol's face flushes hot and his mouth curls into a wry smile. “I wouldn’t say I’m an expert exactly.”

Jihoon gives him a look of vague annoyance.

“It was heavily implied that you were ‘mind-blowing in bed’. I believe those were your exact words in fact. And you repeatedly lauded your experience over me.”

Seungcheol blushes hopelessly, wanting to shrink into the bedsheets, “Okay, yeah—but with humans. I don’t know the first thing about having sex with an alien species, okay, I’m not James Tiberius Kirk. I don’t know what your erogenous zones are—or if you even have erogenous zones. For all I know my dick will melt the second I put it in you.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, though the gesture fails to inject any levity into the conversation when he adds, “I estimate the likelihood of that happening at 5%”

Seungcheol eyeballs him—because that’s 5% more than he’d like.

“Not filling me with confidence here Jihoonie—really, really not.” He huffs, though he notes with some small degree of shame that he still hasn’t been put off in the slightest.

His dick is still hard as a rock—possibly harder than before. Which is a little worrying. It’s been a while since he’s had access to a warm body, sure, but instincts like self-preservation shouldn’t just fly right out the window when the promise of sex is added to the equation. 

“My research has determined that the physiology of our species are very similar—” Jihoon pipes up, drawing Seungcheol away from his thoughts. “Genetically, we’re very compatible. Enough that you could impre—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, blushing. And then, in an almost hesitant tone, adds, “I don’t expect there to be many differences. Just do what you normally would do. If an obstacle appears, we’ll work past it.”

Seungcheol’s cock gives an eager twitch in response, and he levers himself up to reach for the nightstand. He didn’t exactly see the point of packing condoms for his 3-year long solo stint in deep space, but he has plenty of lube and he’s happy that he’s finally making use of it.

When he gets back onto the bed, it’s beside Jihoon this time instead of over him, and he gets Jihoon by the chin and bows his head to give him a soft, unhurried kiss. When he backs off again, Jihoon licks his lips and shoots Seungcheol a smile midway between amused and nervous.

"Are you going to penetrate me now?" he asks, eyes darting at the bottle of lube denting the sheets.

"There is such a thing as foreplay you know," Seungcheol counters, not acknowledging the way his blood heats at the blunt way Jihoon says stuff like that. He feels a conflicting little frown wrinkling his brow as he settles between Jihoon’s spread thighs. "Generally it’s considered polite to start with a little foreplay, before moving on to anal penetration."

Jihoon’s eyebrows do a peculiar little dance, before his eyes light up in recognition.

“Ah—foreplay: sexual activity that precedes intercourse.” He chimes, proving once again that he’s an actual walking, talking Encyclopaedia. “I did come across this act during my research. It strikes me as a waste of time, and I believe this is the general consensus amongst males of your species—but historically—"

Seungcheol doesn't wait for Jihoon’s no doubt thrilling thesis on the origins of foreplay—he just slides his hands down, hooks them under Jihoon's knees, pushes them up until Jihoon’s bent in half and his feet are pointing at the ceiling. The back of his thighs are long stripes of pale skin, intensely pale in the semi-darkness, and Seungcheol dips his head to pepper kisses over that skin, because hell, it's there, and it's just as soft and smooth and warm as he imagined.

It’s probably not the most comfortable position to be held in, but Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind. He hooks his hands under his knees—not apparently to hold himself open, but to crane his neck and look at what Seungcheol’s doing.

“Is this foreplay?” He asks, inquisitive little pixie that he is.

“Yep.” Seungcheol laughs softly; Jihoon does honest curiosity very well.

He can see the pulse under the smooth, pale skin of Jihoon’s inner thigh, jumping. He licks it, because it seems like the thing to do, then sinks his teeth in, a gentle nip.

Jihoon makes a curious little noise and cranes his neck further, “And the biting? Is that some primitive way of marking your territory?”

Seungcheol has to resist the urge to roll his eyes, because of course Jihoon plans on interrupting their first time together with scientific inquiries. Of course.

But as much as Seungcheol wants to indulge him, sex isn’t a movie—it shouldn’t have an endless running commentary, it shouldn’t have questions beyond ‘you like that?’ and ‘want more?’. It should be slow and sweet and instinctual, or fast and hot and passionate.

It’s an art—not science.

Jihoon’s going to be Jihoon though, forever and always, but that doesn’t mean Seungcheol doesn’t have a few ideas up his sleeve to take him apart, for getting him to shut the hell up and go with the flow.

"Wait—where are you going? What’s down there —“ and Seungcheol never finds out what Jihoon was going to say, because Jihoon goes abruptly silent even as Seungcheol chuckles low and a little mean against the curve of his ass, presses his thumbs in to hold Jihoon open and pushes his tongue inside him, rough and inconsiderate and assured.

Jihoon’s right heel slips and skids against his shoulder as he exhales a slow, shaky, “Oh—o-oh.”

Seungcheol is sure to give Jihoon the same kiss now as he had a moment ago, gentle and maybe nice, hardly any tongue: the perfect first kiss. He's rewarded by the jumping of the small muscles high up inside Jihoon's thighs, the little tender pieces that pin Jihoon together, his seams. If you're going to take someone apart, Seungcheol tells himself, going in for a second, deeper, kiss, it's best to start with the seams.

Jihoon is quite obviously shocked by having Seungcheol’s tongue inside him, judging from the little half-sentences he manages — filthy and can't believe and shouldn't — but it's a tautly managed shock, anyway, it's quiet and embarrassed like Seungcheol never thought Jihoon was, it's little barely audible gasps and clamped-down shudders and hands fisting at the bedsheets.

Seungcheol’s enjoying himself so much he barely registers Jihoon’s fingers threading through his hair— not pulling, exactly, but his grip is tight enough that Seungcheol feels nerves sparking all across his scalp, and grits his teeth against the answering pulse in his dick. 

"Something wrong?" Seungcheol asks him, finally lifting his head to look after a particularly painful tug. 

Jihoon tilts his chin down to meet his gaze, red-cheeked and lips redder still, like he’s been biting them.

"You had your tongue—in my anal passage," he says with perfectly biting intonation.

Seungcheol lifts one eyebrow, sarcastic. "Yeah—I know. It was deliberate. It’s called rimming Jihoon.”

Jihoon knits his brows, “On my planet, it’s called obscene.”

“Well—we’re not on your planet right now, are we?” Seungcheol counters, narrowing his eyes. “No—we’re millions of lightyears away, and there’s nobody around to judge us, so if I want to stick my tongue in your ass, the only person’s opinion I care about is yours.”

“What if I think it’s obscene?” Jihoon huffs, matching his narrow stare.

Seungcheol holds up a hand, levering backwords, “Well then, I will stop.”

“Noo.” Jihoon whines, digging his ankles in at Seungcheol’s sides before he can back away.

He was so obviously enjoying the rimming, even if can’t admit to it—can’t admit to wanting more of it. He’s not usually shy about asking for anything, nor is he embarrassed about things someone would usually be embarrassed about—so rimming must rate pretty high on the taboo ladder for his species.

It probably says something about Seungcheol that he’s itching to try it again, just because of that.

“Can you please make up your mind?” He drawls, “Do you want my tongue in your ass or not?”

For a long moment he thinks he won't get a reply. That Jihoon will sulk instead—not that his little snowflake would ever acknowledge the silence as sulking—and leave him to change the subject. But finally Jihoon heaves a resigned sigh and concedes, “I want it. But—I also want to go on the record for saying it’s improper and unsanitary and in direct violation of law ANU-5. Which, I’ll have you know, is punishable by life-long discreditation in every scientific journal on my home planet.”

He sounds all kinds of touchy and sour over it. Seungcheol can’t imagine living on a planet that has actual laws against rimming, but where it’s also perfectly acceptable to walk around naked. It’s like working in a chocolate factory while you’re on a life-long diet or something.

Jesus.

Seungcheol swallows, feels his tongue slide against the roof of his mouth

“Okay then, but I want to go on the record for say I don’t think it’s obscene. I don’t think there’s anything obscene about sexual intimacy between two consenting adults who care for each other, who are attracted to each other, whatever way that intimacy takes shape.”

That must give Jihoon something to think about, because Jihoon props himself up on elbow, looks at Seungcheol with his head tilted just slightly, eyebrows in a delicate knot; and Seungcheol loves that fucking head-tilt and how perfectly not human it makes Jihoon look. He wonders how he hasn't realized it before.

“And, for the record, I don’t go around rimming everyone I sleep with. In fact—you’re the first person I’ve wanted to eat out, so—there.” Seungcheol adds as an afterthought, and pushes Jihoon's thighs incrementally further apart, goes back down to work.

And Jihoon obliges, asking for more without any words at all. Spreading his legs even though Seungcheol is still holding him apart and exposing him completely, there where he’s small and pink and slick with spit.

Jihoon doesn't yank on his hair again—so he must be coming around to the idea, but he does squeal each time Seungcheol’s tongue presses into him. 

"I don’t understand why you would enjoy doing that," Jihoon says next time Seungcheol comes up for air. He sounds casual as anything, but the sheets are wrinkled into starbursts where his hands must have been clutching them.

"You don’t like it?" Seungcheol says, quirking a dubious eyebrow. All the more dubious when he notices Jihoon’s cock is fully erect now, curving pink and cute against the firm planes of his abdomen.

Jihoon's eyes only open for the briefest of moments, glittering and blue.

"I—I did. I just—It just feels strange. And not especially dignified.”

Seungcheol stifles a sigh of disappointment.

He’ll just have to accept defeat on the whole ass-tongue exploration….for now. There’s still plenty of time to ease Jihoon around to the idea later.

Instead, he focuses his attention on Jihoon’s chest, bending down to lick at the peak of a nipple, suck it between his lips, worry it till Jihoon’s crying out and arching into his mouth. He tilts his head to give the second one similar attention, except Jihoon’s already beat him to it—pinching and twisting the rosy bud between his thumb and forefinger. And fuck—it shouldn’t be possible to be more turned on right now, but just watching Jihoon play with himself, watching him take part instead of lying there passively while Seungcheol does stuff to him—it’s beyond arousing. 

So much so that Seungcheol finds himself grinding his dick against the sheets between Jihoon’s thighs, groaning as Jihoon curls a hand over his nape and guides his head back towards his first nipple.

He could easily get off on this—he realises after a while—they both could. So he pulls his head away reluctantly, ignoring Jihoon’s petulant mewl and begins sucking kisses down his chest instead, pausing every now and then to nip gently at the creamy canvas of skin. 

Thanks to Seungcheol’s excellent cooking and a healthy appetite, Jihoon’s a lot plumper now then he was when he first boarded the station, especially around his hips and thighs, which makes him all that more enticing in Seungcheol’s hungry gaze. Though he’ll also admit to having a particular fondness for the concavity of Jihoon’s stomach, and spends an age walking the tips of his fingers across it, licking into his belly button just to watch the muscles tremble.

The startling sensation of hot, hard flesh poking against his chest grounds Seungcheol abruptly, and he pulls back to admire the flushed length of Jihoon’s cock.

Seungcheol had spent an unhealthy amount of time in the last few weeks imagining the velvet smooth texture of that cock, the bitter-sweet taste of Jihoon’s come filling his mouth. Against his will, he shivers faintly.

“If rimming makes you uncomfortable, would you object to my mouth elsewhere?" he asks, reaching down, circling Jihoon's cock loosely, stroking it idly. "Here for instance."

Jihoon’s eyes flutter shut, a slow exhalation of pleasure passing his lips.

Encouraged, Seungcheol gives him a firmer stroke, grinning when Jihoon gasps out his name.

“Well? Are there any laws against me sucking you off?” He presses, stilling his hand for now.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jihoon's expression falter in answer, a nervous flicker of tongue over full lip, “It is not an act we practice, but—no. There are no laws prohibiting it.”

Which is the best news Seungcheol’s heard all day.

“Well then—" He smirks, easing Jihoon’s legs up to slip over his shoulders.

“It’s just—” Jihoon starts, stopping him short just as Seungcheol’s about to get into position, “Does it not bother you that mine is small?”

Seungcheol stops to blink at him, “Huh?”

“That I’m smaller than you—there,” Jihoon murmurs, staring where their dicks line up.

Or don’t quite line up, to be exact.

Seungcheol snorts, not quite a laugh but close. He’s fairly sure that started off as Alien superiority. Now it almost sounds like Jihoon is apologising for having some sort of horrible disability.

“So?” He intones, cradling Jihoon’s balls, rubbing his thumb underneath the tiny head. He doesn’t understand what the big deal is—it looks just like his dick, just….much smaller. “I thought being smaller made your species superior? I believe those were your exact words.”

Jihoon twists his mouth and looks away.

“Usually, yes. But since conducting my research, I have discovered that humans revere larger sexual organs, and now I feel my size is inadequate compared to your….” He drags his eyes back, to scan over Seungcheol’s cock—"ample girth.”

Undeterred—and more than a little flattered of course—Seungcheol lowers himself between Jihoon’s thighs, nudging them up until Jihoon takes the hint and drapes his legs over his shoulders.

“Maybe some people care about that, but I don’t. I like your cock just the way it is Jihoonie.” He says, pressing a loving kiss to the flushed tip. “It’s cute.”

“Cute.” Jihoon echoes.

He sounds amused. Thankfully not offended, and certainly not like he’s going to brain Seungcheol with his kneecap, which is a plus.

Seungcheol smiles without meaning to, hides it by quickly shuffling back, ducking down and mouthing the head of Jihoon's pretty cock, sucking at it gently. Jihoon falls quiet save for a little pleased grunt, but as Seungcheol takes him in deeper, he clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle an almost comical sound of discovery, that has Seungcheol pulling back to grin at him.

“Good, huh? Want me to keep going?”

Jihoon sighs and closes his eyes, tilting his head back into the pillow. "Hmmhmm," he agrees a little absently, though his hips rise up into the next lick, casting their vote.

Seungcheol smirks and opens his mouth again, takes his time now, sucks gently and then licks around Jihoon’s foreskin before rolling it back with his lips. He doesn't mean to do it; his low hum of pleasure is purely a natural reaction to the little rush of sweet precome that slicks over the blade of his tongue. The sound isn’t meant as a tease, or as encouragement, but Jihoon's hand abruptly lands on Seungcheol's head, gentle if clumsy.

Jihoon murmurs, "Oh—that’s —" and his voice goes gritty, dry, and his breath explodes outwards as Seungcheol moans again, deliberately this time around.

"Seungcheol that’s," Jihoon says confusedly, "Seungcheol, I’m—oh” and he gasps and makes a sound of shock then, because Seungcheol is taking him all the way in now, hollowing his cheeks, and it's a fucking terrible shame if no one has ever made Jihoon aware of how delicious he is, how perfect, how — "Ahh," Jihoon whispers now, fingers moving over to flirt with the tip of Seungcheol's ear.

"Mm," Seungcheol agrees, bobbing a little now, working Jihoon into something more like a rhythm, and Jihoon is — he's quiet, but god, he's — he's here, he's definitely here, breathing soft and fast and stroking his thumb around the shell of Seungcheol's ear like it's all he'll trust himself with.

“Seung-cheol…something’s happening.” He cries out, digging his heels into the mattress until the springs pop. Which is just about when Seungcheol decides to pull back to stop him from tipping over the edge.

Except that Jihoon, being Jihoon – always the exception to the rule that only fools rush in; and somehow totally wrecked by what Seungcheol feels in a not altogether awful but certainly an imprecise blowjob – comes at exactly that moment, streaking Seungcheol’s chin, lips and left cheek.

Seungcheol just sits there, for a second, between Jihoon’s spread thighs, weighing one part amusement and one part curious fascination against the smug pride that he’s obviously a total natural at the whole blowjob thing, before deigning to wipe the back of his hand over his chin.

His hand comes away glittering—shimmering with an iridescent silver glow.

The concentrated blood flow to his nether regions is probably the reason why it takes him so long to realise the sparkly substance coating the back of his fingers is in fact Jihoon’s cum—that Jihoon not only cries glitter, but he comes glitter too. 

“Woah—even your cum glows. That’s amazing.” Seungcheol breathes, then flicks his tongue– more or less unconsciously – over his lips, tasting what’s there.

It’s a little sweet, a little oily; with a tang of something that he doesn’t actually have a point of reference for, but it’s far from being the worst thing he’s ever tasted.

Actually, if he’s being completely honest, it’s pretty damn good—and if his dick gets to weigh in too, it’s one hell of a turn on.

Seungcheol's mouth waters. He suddenly, desperately wants more, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s licking the rest of it off the back of his hand, leaning down to lap the small puddle on Jihoon’s belly and mouthing at Jihoon’s cock, chasing its addictive taste.

"Jesus," Seungcheol says, pulling off quickly, heart pounding, not sure what’s happening except feeling like he's skirting too close to the edge of some breath-taking fall, like he'd better shift course before he stumbles over it. “Oh, wow—I think your come is like some kind of aphrodisiac Jihoon.”

He’s so entranced by the concept of glitter cum, the taste of it drowning out his other senses, that he doesn’t notice Jihoon curl up into a little defensive ball on the bed until the petite Alien utters a sound too telling to be ignored. A quiet sniff.

Seungcheol tenses, feeling like a moron that he’d dismissed the silence on Jihoon’s part as exhaustion. There's only the light from the viewport illuminating the room, but it's enough to see the wetness pooling at the corners of Jihoon’s eyes.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong baby?” He whispers, taking a seat, turning Jihoon onto his back, drawing him up onto the bed.

He’s pleasantly surprised that Jihoon allows it—more so when he realises Jihoon isn’t actually upset. Not quite. He looks more sheepish than hurt—blushing in a way that has all the blood in Seungcheol's body shooting south even though he's aware that isn't the most appropriate reaction.

“Are you—are you embarrassed?”

Jihoon scowls at him, tear tracks smudged over the flushed skin of his face, brow screwed up in a frown. “Of course, I am. I ejaculated all over your face.” He sniffs. “That was extremely inconsiderate of me, but I ….I had no control. I apologize.”

Seungcheol nearly busts a gut laughing.

“It’s okay Snowflake,” He says, rubbing a palm over Jihoon’s ribs and stomach, watching him scrub at his eyes, chest heaving and jaw clenching to keep his breathing steady, with lukewarm results. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Or be embarrassed about. It’s normal—it’s what I was expecting you to do, it’s what this is all about. I want you to enjoy it.”

Jihoon flushes and fidgets, but his voice is steady as he gestures at Seungcheol’s head, “But my ejaculate is in your hair.”

Seungcheol lifts a hand to check his hair, then stops himself—fixes Jihoon with a long, level look instead.

“Do I look upset? Read my mind Jihoon—do I feel upset about it?”

“No.” Jihoon’s voice is soft now. Grudging but sincere. He pushes himself up on his elbows to look at Seungcheol more closely, as if he can just gleam his thoughts by looking. “If anything—you are pleased by the mess I have made. You—you want me to make more mess.”

Seungcheol pulls his mouth into a smirk. 

“I am. I do.”

Jihoon's expression becomes faintly confused, but still not upset. There’s even a flicker of something in his eyes that Seungcheol can't properly identify, but seems encouraging.

“What a strange species you humans are.” He finally says, frowning—because of course Humanity is to blame here.

Humanity’s always to blame when he doesn’t understand something. 

Whatever makes you happy, Seungcheol thinks, curling down to kiss as much of Jihoon’s mouth as he can reach from that angle. He takes his time, enjoying the way Jihoon’s sulky frown softens against his lips.

By the time he settles back against the pillows, Jihoon is relaxed and smiling, pulling enthusiastically on Seungcheol’s forearms, urging him along.

Seungcheol chuckles at his eagerness, but happily gives in, taking a moment to rearrange Jihoon's thighs so they're open over his lap, then inches forward to splay a hand flat on Jihoon's belly to keep him in place. The other hand quests between his thighs, pushing his legs apart so Seungcheol can run a finger against the edge of his hole, there where he’s slick and pink and still so tight.

Reaching for the lube, Seungcheol uncaps it, slicks his fingers generously as his eyes eat up every centimetre of the lithe body laid out in front of him. Jihoon watches him back, with bright wide pupils, calm, still—barring the quick in-out of his stomach as his breath moves faster.

His thighs are still parted widely enough that Seungcheol can see it all, tight balls and slick open-closed movement of his hole, as if he’s trying to prepare himself for what’s to come. But he keens—keens so beautifully when Seungcheol finally eases a finger in, yielding bit by bit when he starts fucking him with it.

"Okay?" Seungcheol checks; he would smile, maybe, if he could, but the only functioning part of his brain is sitting back and admiring Jihoon. Unable to pull his eyes away from the wanton spill of him, his chest, arms.

"I — it," Jihoon stammers, frowning with his eyebrows and gasping with his mouth, expression confused and lovely.

Seungcheol kisses the soft inside of his knee, strokes down his thigh as he twists the finger deeper, as far as it will go, until his hand is flush against Jihoon’s skin.

"Does it feel good?"

Jihoon hesitates a long moment before answering.

"It's, you're — ahh—ahh. Yes. Yes—I like it!" He gasps, eyes popping open again as Seungcheol finds his sweet spot. Teases it. "Please. I like it, don't stop."

"I won’t," Seungcheol assures, working a second finger in alongside the first, unable to look away from Jihoon’s erection smearing his belly with dampness, "Just—relax for me a little, yeah? I don’t want to hurt you."

Jihoon takes a deep, weirdly audible breath, obviously making a conscious effort to follow Seungcheol's instructions, and Seungcheol can't help but laugh.

He curls a loose fist around Jihoon’s cock, rubbing the damp tip with his thumb, distracting him as he scissors his fingers, stretching him. He thinks they really should have done this sooner, because there’s nothing better than the way Jihoon clamps around his fingers, tight and silken and perfect, the way he shudders and whispers his name.

“Cheol—hnn, cheol.”

Three fingers deep and Seungcheol hesitates, watchful of the minutest reactions, searching for the faintest hint of pain or resistance. But Jihoon only arches beneath him as Seungcheol’s weight bears him down, a taunting movement that makes Seungcheol inhale sharply through his teeth—makes it impossible to ignore the matched heat, the firm evidence of mutual arousal between them.

Even now, Seungcheol still has to remind himself not to underestimate Jihoon’s boundless capacity to surprise him. He’s nothing like he expected—here under Seungcheol’s hands.

“Ah—I,” Jihoon breathes, gasps, sighs, “I think I’m ready.”

Seungcheol nods, though he withdraws his fingers reluctantly.

He’s entertained thoughts of spending an agonizingly long time opening Jihoon’s body for him, making him come from it, again and again, until he’s loose and open and Seungcheol can slide in easily, fuck him hard and fill him up just the way he needs. But looking down at Jihoon now, the sprawl of him over Seungcheol's bed, the spike of his hair and the glow of his skin, the close way he's watching Seungcheol, trying to guess his next move, and abruptly Seungcheol doesn't want to wait. 

He can’t.

His throat goes tight with want, and he honestly can't help it, the way he suddenly has to move his hands up and wrap them firm around Jihoon's ribs, digs his fingers in a little, finding the dips that demarcate the soft places between the lines of Jihoon's ribs.

It’s a perfect fit—almost as if Jihoon is made to fit inside his hands, just like this.

Stupid thought, stupid impulse—Seungcheol scolds himself, but undeniable, nevertheless.

"You need to tell me if I’m going to fast," Seungcheol says, squirting lube into his palm, hissing as he spreads it down his aching dick, "It’s been a while for me, and if you want me to stop—I might miss some visual clues."

He’s tempted to add that they don’t have to do this at all, that they can take it slower, take a step back if Jihoon’s not ready. But before he can say any of that, Jihoon draws breath to speak, Seungcheol's hand riding the swell of his ribcage helplessly.

"Seungcheol—please," he says, voice smudged like he's forcing the words out around a tightness in his throat. "I want this. I’m ready."

Seungcheol sinks into him without needing to be told twice, groaning out loud as his cock is engulfed in that tight, blissful heat.

Still too fucking tight—he thinks, and has to shut his eyes to stop himself from coming there and then, though it pains him to lose proper sight of Jihoon’s face. It’s almost enough to hear the sounds though—the little gasps and muffled mewls, the quickening tempo of Jihoon’s breathing as Seungcheol’s hips give an involuntary forward stutter.

He’s aching to sheath himself all the way in, but he manages to hold back and take his time—let Jihoon acclimatise to the feeling of someone inside him.

Once he bottoms out, Jihoon lets out a long breath, a sigh that seems to contain equal amounts of relief and pleasure. Seungcheol opens his eyes and sees Jihoon with his head tipped back, damp strands of hair clinging to where sweat had already begun to bead on his temples and brow. Seungcheol brushes them away, runs his hand down Jihoon’s throat, his chest, his belly, curls his hand around the length of Jihoon’s cock.

It’s still hard—which is good, it’s a good sign—and more importantly it stays hard, bobbing along as Seungcheol rolls his hips experimentally. But Jihoon hasn’t given him the green light to move yet, and though every fibre in his body is scream at him to move, to ask for permission, Seungcheol very much doubts he could speak now, even if he wanted to.

He can't breathe if he isn't thinking hard enough about it—and it’s hard to think of anything with Jihoon’s ass clenching around him rhythmically, making every nerve in his body groan. But he has no call to test his resolve for long—not when Jihoon fists both hands in his hair and drags him down into another messy, eager kiss.

They fumble a bit along the way. Their first time together, their first time learning what the other likes, of course it's imperfect.

It's also everything and more than Seungcheol imagined. He savours every vivid moment, memorizes every detail: as he opens Jihoon with slow, steady thrusts; as he demands hungry kisses despite the awkward angle; as he learns the sounds Jihoon makes in the most intimate moments.

He should not be surprised to discover Jihoon is talkative in bed. He is surprised however—sincerely shocked to discover the petite Alien is so damn noisy. That Jihoon is a screamer. For someone so reticent and eloquent in normal conversation, it feels almost contradictory that sex inspires an endless litany of nonsensical words—most of them in a language Seungcheol can’t understand.

But he’s pretty sure Jihoon’s enjoying it. Though—it’s probably a good idea to be 100% certain.

“F-fuck—” Seungcheol voice cracks as it escapes his throat, as he forces himself to slow and then stop completely.

They lie chest to chest for a moment, Jihoon beneath him, the stiff line of his cock trapped between their stomachs.

“Why did you stop?” Jihoon asks, somehow managing to sound commanding and firm despite the way pleasure twines breathlessly along his voice.

"I have no idea what you’re saying." Seungcheol says, hearing his own voice low and fluid and thick. “I wasn’t sure if all the Alien chatter was a good sign or a bad sign.”

Even now, knees at his red-rimmed ears and hands splayed on Seungcheol’s back, Jihoon still manages to look at him like he’s an idiot.

"It’s a good sign Seungcheol. Trust me, it’s a good sign. So, please—move!" He demands in a voice gone low with feeling.

So Seungcheol does. He rolls his hips more deliberately this time—withdraws and then sinks his cock deep once more. Jihoon’s face goes beautifully slack, and Seungcheol fucking loves the way his tight little ass contracts around the width of his cock, taking every centimetre of him like he’ll never get the chance again. 

Christ, this is heaven.

It's so fucking good—too fucking good, how Jihoon takes him in, body a blissful tight inferno beneath him.

They fuck with a mutual desperation that leaves Seungcheol's chest tight, his head spinning, his heart pounding fast. But their shared rhythm barely falters, even as Jihoon stares straight up at him with every thrust—stares straight through him like he can see every secret Seungcheol has ever possessed, ugly and beautiful both—and Seungcheol can't look away, even when his chest begins to ache with too much feeling.

It has to be love, Seungcheol figures, because it’s perfect and he doesn’t want it to stop, but it hurts at the same time.

“God—you’re beautiful.” Seungcheol breathes on a wrecked whisper. “So fucking beautiful. So perfect—mine.”

Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut at that final word, tears spilling from the corner of his eyes.

Before Seungcheol can properly worry about that, he gasps in surprise when he’s dragged down into another uncoordinated kiss, silencing his doubts.

They’re both close now, he can feel it. Can feel himself unravelling—a corkscrew of pleasure from the base of his skull all the way down to where he's pressed deep into Jihoon's body, Jihoon's cock is leaving lone, wet, obscene smears on Seungcheol's abs, and his mouth shines wet almost raw-red each time they break apart to breathe.

When Jihoon finally comes, it's with a shaking breath and muffled cry against the side of Seungcheol's neck like a secret.

Seungcheol tries not to give in to time, not surrender to his own orgasm, but Jihoon squeezing mercilessly around him, giving Seungcheol little, stuttering twitches of his hips and sucking on his earlobe, and Seungcheol—dammit—Seungcheol is only human.

He groans in relief as the pleasure crests, sharp and sudden, as he empties inside Jihoon’s welcoming body. Groans a second time, pleasantly surprised when he feels Jihoon’s orgasm again, right along with him, spilling between their stomachs.

Three orgasms in one night? That’s pretty impressive for a first timer—Seungcheol thinks. 

And it urges him on.

Pulse roaring in his ears, he watches Jihoon's eyes roll, sees the hectic glow bloom on his face and down his chest, feels the wet release of his come trickle out as he keeps thrusting into Jihoon, through his orgasm and past it, when Jihoon starts to actually quiver and whimper.

And it's mean, Seungcheol knows it's mean, to keep at Jihoon like this — keep thrusting into the delicious heat, to drag him to the edge and hold him there when he's gone over, like this — but the way Jihoon makes wordless noises and his nerveless hands flutter over Seungcheol, touching everywhere, is amazing and fascinating and addictive.

He does stop himself—eventually. Has to, really; they’re both too over-sensitized for an immediate follow up round and the post-orgasmic lassitude is quickly sapping the energy from Seungcheol’s limbs. But he manages to hold himself up, long enough to feather apologetic kisses against Jihoon's sweat-damp skin, before he slides his softening cock out and drops to the side in a satisfied tumble of limbs.

The unexpected ache in his arms and thighs sings euphoric along his senses, and Seungcheol shuts his eyes as the rest of the world spins bright and overwhelmed beyond him.

After what feels like a millennia, he finally manages to turn on his side, facing Jihoon, and props himself up on one elbow. The view doesn't disappoint.

There's the mess between Jihoon’s thighs, slick and widespread, and an even bigger pool of his own mess coating his belly, staining his skin a faintly shimmering blue. Jihoon’s hair is sticking up six ways from Sunday, his lips wet and puffy, and he's staring at the ceiling, pupils wide and endless with awe, as if he's just had some amazing, rapturous experience.

Seungcheol lets himself feel just a little smug about that for a minute before he ventures, "Earth to Jihoon," stroking a finger against Jihoon's temple. "Ground Control to Major Tom – you in there?"

Jihoon turns his head languorously, the weird, perfect grace of his movements accentuated in slow motion. "My name is not Tom."

He doesn't look peeved or confused when he says it though, just blissed out still – like he doesn't really care what Seungcheol calls him anymore.

"It's –" Seungcheol starts, but then decides it really isn't worth the effort. So he smiles instead and pulls Jihoon into his arms, "Ya know what, never mind."

* * *

"You really have a thing for my biceps, huh?" Seungcheol observes sometime later, watching Jihoon from the corner of his eye, all pliant and dreamy, rubbing his cheek against Seungcheol's bicep like a contented cat.

He’s clearly fascinated by Seungcheol’s muscles. Or maybe just by the fact that he's been given permission to touch them whenever he wants. Though he still seems so uncertain, cautious where he presses his fingers, where he lays a hand, as if Seungcheol is some new and strange thing that he wants, but isn't entirely sure how to please.

It's sort of flattering, but it leaves Seungcheol feeling oddly raw at the same time.

Jihoon’s still in recovery mode, still re-charging after that world class fucking, so it takes him a while to manage even a simple, breathy, “Yeah.” Though no amount of exhaustion stops him from exploring the naked planes of Seungcheol’s chest with two fingers.

It's a sensation that's balanced so precariously between soothing and arousing that time drips away without him being aware of it. And even though he and Jihoon have practically built this weird, almost-relationship of theirs on long, silent stretches and half-naked cuddling, it seems surreal now that they're actually naked together, so Seungcheol clears his throat and says, "So, how was your first time?"

At first, Jihoon doesn't answer, he just brings his hand over and runs his thumb back and forth across Seungcheol's lower lip for a moment, then drags his lip back and slips his thumb into Seungcheol's mouth until the pad bumps against Seungcheol's teeth, letting it rest there. It's a tender and weirdly intimate gesture that makes Seungcheol's heart beat a little too fast.

"It was..." Jihoon ventures finally, "Incredible." Then he's back to stroking back and forth along Seungcheol's abs, the touch almost hypnotically gentle.

"Yeah?” Seungcheol smirks. “What was your favourite part, then?"

"Your lips."

Seungcheol laughs, "I didn't mean which _body_ part Jihoon."

"I am aware of your intended meaning." Jihoon’s expression is gentle, but his gaze is laser-focused, right on Seungcheol's mouth. He loved the kissing, Seungcheol remembers, deep and hungry, like he was trying to catch a taste of Seungcheol's soul.

Jihoon leans over, his eyes never leaving Seungcheol's mouth, like his pupils are pinned to the wet stripe of Seungcheol's lips, and kisses him – slick and searching as his fingers weave through Seungcheol's hair.

Seungcheol's scalp already tingles – though not unpleasantly – from a few too many tugs and the pressure of Jihoon's grip, and Seungcheol's pretty sure it's one of the best feelings ever, that sharp sensory memory.

It feels like they’re seconds away from kicking off round two—but just as Seungcheol shifts to roll them over, Jihoon pulls back, licks along his jaw, breathes out a sigh against the pulse in his neck.

"I was only ever supposed to watch you,” He says quietly, “To observe you, nothing more."

Seungcheol turns his head on the pillow, finds Jihoon's face, creased in a frown, though still intent upon his lips. His fingers, curving round the flat length of Seungcheol's shoulder, tremble ever so faintly, and slow their path upwards.

"I was never meant to have t-this.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Seungcheol tenses under his touch. "This isn't something I can have."

The words are like a kick to the gut, like ice on the back of Seungcheol's neck. 

“Do you...are you regretting this?”

"No—no, not this. I don’t regret anything," Jihoon’s brows knit together, and he makes an aborted, flappy movement with his hand that would usually inspire laughter, if Seungcheol’s throat wasn’t currently closing up with dread.

"It's difficult to explain—I’ve tried to explain it, but human words are too simple—and time, time is not simple Seungcheol.” Jihoon whispers, the usual pleasant blank of his face has shattered and left something distressed and desperate in its wake. “By the very virtue of me being here, interfering with your timeline—I am creating erasable changes. Some changes I can’t fix—some I don’t wish to. Because I am…I am selfish."

Seungcheol just stares at him incomprehensively. “What do you mean?”

The silence stretches until Seungcheol can feel it starting to fray around the edges, until finally Jihoon speaks.

“You are not mine to have. You are not my Seungcheol.” he admits, soft and ragged under his breath like it's a secret, a secret he's ashamed of. There's a neediness there, an ache that's almost frightened, but it covers something harder, something less easy to define.

Seungcheol's stomach lurches, he feels the bunk sway underneath him as he sits upright.

“What does that mean Jihoon? What do you mean I’m not _your_ Seungcheol?”

There’s heartbreak behind Jihoon’s smile, and something ancient in his eyes despite the youth of his face as he whispers, “I wasn’t there in time.”


	8. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been reluctant to upload this as it heavily referenced other fics of mine I have not had an opportunity to re-upload, but I'd like to work on the ending now and can't really be bothered to wait. 
> 
> All you need to know is the AU's they explore in this chapter are based on fics I'd written (some re-uploaded, some waiting to be), fics I gave up finishing (because I wrote myself into a corner) and a few popular AU ideas that had threads on twitter. (Duke Duck Cheol and Picklehoon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally reached where the original upload had left off :)) Can work on last few chapters :))

**DAY: 838**

Seungcheol goes three hours after his cryptic chat with Jihoon without pressing for more information. Three hours of feeling like there's a live wire, white hot, cutting him in the gut. Three hours in which every syllable, every movement, every _everything_ takes an effort of will just to concentrate.

He’d given up on the _‘I’m not angry, I’m not angry with you—just explain it to me’_ pretty early on, because all that succeeded in doing was make Jihoon cry and run off to hide somewhere. The ventilation ducts he suspected, which is why he left a Capri-sun and a carefully wrapped cheese sandwich at the entrance after the first hour, then breathed a sigh of relief when they went missing sometime during hour two.

Maybe Jihoon’s still be too upset and distressed to speak to him, but he’s still eating and drinking and that’s good. That’s a good sign. Seungcheol’s going to consider that much as progress because he wants to be patient about this, he really does. Even if what Jihoon said is so downright troubling.

_‘You’re not my Seungcheol’_

Jesus. What does that even mean?

Maybe _troubling_ isn’t really the word Seungcheol’s looking for. Confusing _as fuck_ maybe, but that’s Jihoon even on a good day and Seungcheol has more or less come to accept that, knows how to deal with all the different levels of confusing that Jihoon can dish out. Except this one, apparently, but he doesn’t really think he’s at fault; it is, after all, fairly new and more or less unexpected.

By the fourth hour, he can’t bring himself to wait anymore and lures Jihoon out from his hiding place and to the kitchen under false pretences. He makes up a devious little lie about how he’s made too much hot chocolate and will Jihoon help him drink it _please_. But the second he’s got Jihoon sitting comfortably, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands, he’s taking the opposite seat and crossing his arms.

“Alright. We need to talk.”

Jihoon’s fingers clench around the mug, an unsettled sort of movement that looks like panic and Seungcheol realizes belatedly the tactical error he's made not cutting off the escape route; Jihoon has an air of ready-to-bolt-and-hide-in-the-ventilation-ducts-again.

Instead of making his escape, Jihoon drops his gaze to the mug and mumbles, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Everything,” Seungcheol says firmly, “Tell me everything from the beginning.”

Jihoon only hesitates a moment, locking Seungcheol with a curious, gauging expression. “The beginning?”

“Yep. I want the _whole_ story. Don’t leave out any details just because you think I’m too stupid to understand them. I want to know what happened, what the hell is going on. _Explain_ it to me.” Seungcheol says. Then he shuts up and waits, sombre and expectant.

Jihoon nods, setting his mug down with a weary sigh. When he begins to speak, even his words are tired in a way he rarely sounds.

“I began my existence 23,087 cycles ago, as a tiny seedling in an incubation chamber in our home planet, Wooz—”

“We don’t have to go back _that_ far.” Seungcheol interrupts, tone harsher than he intends.

“But you just said for be to tell you everything from the beginning. My life as a seedling in the incubation chamber _is_ the beginning of my journey.” Jihoon huffs, falling back into his seat as if he’s lost all his bones.

Seungcheol grits his teeth and digs his thumbs into his eyes until he sees stars. “Okay, let me _re-phrase_ that. I want you to tell me why you said what you said, what you mean by I am not _your_ Seungcheol.”

There's a pause that feels like it goes on forever. A stillness in Jihoon, like Seungcheol's forcing him to look at something he's been avoiding for a long time. Then, finally, he takes a measured breath and speaks.

“For many millennia’s, my species have dedicated our life to research and scientific exploration, to finding out everything there is to know about life beyond our planet. As a result, many of us can live a solitary existence, which has naturally led to a reduction in our population. For the last few centuries, we have been encouraged to reproduce, and naturally where possible, as the incubation methods previously used to birth many of my species are time consuming and inherently wasteful.”

“Wait—” Seungcheol’s eyes narrow, “Didn’t you once say you had like 5000 siblings?”

Jihoon gives him a slow, even look. Almost like he's trying to figure out the most pleasant way of phrasing his answer.

“ _Had_ being the operative word, I suppose. I _had_ 5000 siblings Seungcheol, but as I was the only seedling deemed viable for growth, the others were destroyed after the incubation process.”

Seungcheol’s already got his mouth open, more from stunned surprise than because he has any idea of what he’s going to say.

“Fuck. That’s pretty harsh.”

Jihoon gives a rueful smile. “As I said, it is an extremely wasteful procedure. But for a long time, it was the only way to increase our population levels when natural methods of re-population failed.” Another smile, this one wry and accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. “It is amusing in a way, to think that despite all our technological advancements, despite how far we have travelled and how vast our knowledge of the Universe beyond out home planet is, we fail at something so intrinsically simple. Every species has it’s weakness I suppose, and my own species lies in its...social limitations.”

Seungcheol shifts so he can rest his elbows on his knees and look at Jihoon more steadily. “What do you mean by social limitations?”

Jihoon's voice is oddly thin as he explains, “My species instinctively shy away from crowds, from intimacy, and we often struggle to accommodate others in our personal space.”

A small, involuntary chuckle escapes Seungcheol, “Uh, really? Because I could have _sworn_ one of your most defining traits is that you seem to have _no_ concept of personal space Jihoon. I mean—on your first day aboard the station you slept in my bed. I _spooned_ you.”

“I wouldn’t do that with just anyone!” Jihoon huffs. He presses his lips together, as if he’s preventing himself from saying more. Then, after a breath: “Prior to meeting you, I had never allowed anyone to embrace me like that. But when we first met, I felt this connection with you—you made me feel safe in a way I had never felt before, and I wanted to experience more of it.”

Seungcheol manages his best self-effacing laugh. “Really? So uhm—I’m an exception to the rule?”

Jihoon laughs slightly, really just an exhalation. “No, actually, you are the very _definition_ of the rule. I always knew that we would form a connection when we met.”

Seungcheol can't help the noise he makes under the words. That surprised, breathy catch in his throat.

“Wait, are you saying you knew we were going to meet, _before_ we met?”

Jihoon looks up at him, letting the pause draw out as if to emphasize how stupid he finds the question. “Of course not, I had no way of knowing that. I may be an empath, but I have no powers of precognition. I honestly didn’t expect to meet you in person at all, and when I did, I only intended to observe you from a distance. All I am saying is that _scientifically_ , there was a great deal of evidence to indicate that we would be very compatible with each other.”

“Ok, so you’re not clairvoyant,” Seungcheol says, giving himself a brief mental smack. “But there is a _science_ behind it. Your species measure their compatibility with others before they meet them? Like—like they do in _dating_ apps?”

Jihoon gives him a look, as if he'd been waiting for this point of the conversation and intends to make it count. “Yes, but it’s a much more complicated process, with far less shallow considerations than your human dating applications encourage. Whereas attraction in _your_ species tends to focus on traits that only run skin deep, my species do not concern ourselves with superficial traits such as appearance or wealth or the latest fashion trends. We bond for life despite it.”

Seungcheol pulls an offended expression even though Jihoon doesn't sound accusing or distant, not even the horribly manufactured matter-of-fact thing he does. He sounds a little tentative, maybe, but neutral otherwise.

“Fine, I’ll admit that we humans can be pretty shallow minded about what we find attractive. But you can’t exactly take the moral high ground here either—you’ve been creaming yourself over my biceps since you showed up.”

“I have not,” Jihoon pouts, pushing his hair out of his face, a little indignantly. “I was simply marvelling at the unique musculature of the human male form.”

“You said my body was magnificent and should be immortalised in stone.” Seungcheol points out, because that’s a thing that actually happened, and it was hilarious.

“A valid scientific conclusion under the circumstances.” Jihoon snaps at him, two glowing red spots forming on his cheeks. “I think you’ll find that anyone who has the opportunity to observe you in all your naked glory would have said the same.”

A snort escapes Seungcheol’s lips before he can pin it down. “You’re not really proving me wrong here.”

Jihoon huffs irritably and twists in his seat, arms crossed. “Am I here to tell you my story, or am I here to defend my research? If I had known to it would be the latter, I would have brought my tricorder.”

He’s got a whole body glow going on now, but it’s more of a petulant pink than an angry fiery red, that says they’re dealing with the Alien equivalent of a temper tantrum. Still though, Seungcheol doesn’t want to risk pissing him off so early in the conversation.

“Alright, alright—I’m sorry. My bad. Please continue.”

For a moment, he doesn’t think Jihoon’s going to go along with that. But after only a few seconds of indignant huffing, Jihoon’s sinking back into his seat and folding his legs. “Long ago, some of our brightest minds developed a complex algorithm to determine true compatibility, to ensure that each citizen was assigned to a highly compatible individual we could happily co-exist with. It is a near perfect equation, and its application has been very successful in managing our population crisis.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to make of that, so he is careful to keep the emotion out of his voice until he is sure where this is going.

“So basically, you use some complex mathematical formula to find your _soulmate?_ ”

“Precisely,” Jihoon nods, before kicking the explanation into high gear, “From the beginning of our seedling stage, the algorithm is applied, and once our incubation period is complete and we join the rest of our people, we are encouraged to pursue a connection with the individual the algorithm has chosen for us."

"When _I_ left the incubator many cycles ago, I was deemed compatible with another member of my species, named Ewi. He was a scientist, just like myself—young, inquisitive, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. We had quite a lot in common actually, which I hoped would help us co-exist and form a bond. But after a few cycles of trying to accommodate each other, the connection we were supposed to share never materialised. Despite both our efforts, we were never truly comfortable with each other and struggled to achieve even the most _basic_ forms of intimacy.”

“What _kind_ of intimacy are we talking about here?” Seungcheol asks, trying to downplay his own curiosity and surprising jealousy, “Did you ever make it past second base?”

Jihoon's mouth does that twisty thing that says he thinks Seungcheol’s just making shit up to sound smart again, and Seungcheol’s forced to elaborate. “It’s a baseball metaphor.”

Jihoon pouts adorably, “I don’t understand what your human sport has to do with any of this.”

Seungcheol favours him an indulgent smile, “It’s just a polite way of discussing how far you’ve gotten in a relationship. First base is kissing, second is sexual touching, but usually above the belt. Third base can encompass anything from oral sex to hand jobs, and a home run is when you finally start having penetrative sex.”

Jihoon looks...complicated at that.

“What comes before first base? Is there a Zero base? A 0.5 base?”

Seungcheol feels his face splitting into a grin that he probably couldn't have stopped even if he had thought to try. “Uh—not really.”

Jihoon’s gaze turns introspective for a moment, “Then I don’t think this scale of measurement if appropriate for assessing my relationship with Ewi.”

“Seriously?” Seungcheol barely reigns in a snort, “Didn’t you guys at least hold hands or cuddle or something?”

Jihoon looks touchy at the very suggestion, which Seungcheol finds far more endearing than he should, “No. We attempted to hold hands once, but I found it very discomfiting. A second attempt was never made.”

Seungcheol doesn't quite manage not to laugh at that. “So, really, you guys were just friends.”

Jihoon’s gives a faint shrug, as if this is all minor information that he doesn’t care much about.

“Even _friends_ is a stretch of the imagination. I honestly couldn’t stand Ewi, and he wasn’t particularly taken with me either. He used to pick on me, laughing at my scientific methods and disproving my research. But since the algorithm indicated we were a suitable match, I continued to tolerate him."

"For a brief time we even co-existed, not living together exactly, but living nearby and communicating often. Neither of us objected the lack of intimacy in our relationship as our own fields of research kept us well occupied—but after a few cycles, I began to feel...”

Jihoon stops, brow furrowed, unable, or unwilling to finish the thought, and Seungcheol is forced to push, “Feel what?”

"I was _lonely_ ," he admits at last. Words thick in his throat like he's holding everything back.

“Aww, baby.” Seungcheol says helplessly.

Jihoon ducks his head, looking sad and embarrassed. “Even though Ewi was the perfect intellectual match, I still wanted companionship, comfort. Affection. I began to question the application of the algorithm, even though it was not my place to do so, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted answers, I needed to know why out of all the successful matches it had produced, mine had failed. I was sure the algorithm was flawed—that my relationship with Ewi was proof it was not as accurate as they claimed it to be. But after cycles upon cycles of protesting, I was finally granted access to the results and it was then I realised it had not been the fault of the algorithm at all. It was the science council—they had been _deceiving_ me.”

“Wha—” Seungcheol cuts the question with a deep breath that seems to rattle in his lungs, “How were they deceiving you?”

A different look crosses Jihoon's face now, softer shadows, and he says, “The algorithm was flawless— the results it produced were completely accurate. But in an effort to reduce emigration, the science council responsible for distributing the findings had deliberately omitted any individuals that resided outside our home planet from the analysis. Anyone from another species, despite how compatible the algorithm indicated they were, had been removed from the final result. Ewi had only been my second match on the list, but with a compatibility score of 34%, it was no wonder we never managed to form a connection.”

Seungcheol files this new detail away with everything else he knows, then leans forward, closer, until he can see the flicker of Jihoon’s lashes through the curtain of his fringe.

“Who was your _first_ match?”

It’s no surprise that Jihoon doesn’t meet his gaze when he answers, “Y-you.”

Seungcheol’s heart does something in his chest that he is pretty sure isn’t natural. Something new, but not necessarily bad. He lets it settle there, recognizes it for what it is, and then reaches out and takes hold of Jihoon’s hand, threads their fingers together.

He doesn’t need to ask Jihoon what their compatibility score was. He can feel it in his chest, the deep swooping sensation where he is accustomed to feeling nothing at all. He can even see it where their hands touch, the shape of them, how seamlessly they fit together.

Perfect puzzle pieces.

Jihoon glances up then, blinks like he’s gleamed that very thought straight out of Seungcheol’s head, and then his eyes light up, his cheeks turning a pleased shade of pink.

“When I discovered there was someone else out there, a man from a species I had yet to explore but was a perfect match for me—I had to find them. I _had_ to. So I left my home planet in search of you, even though they denied me permission, I took a ship and travelled across the Universe.”

“And you found me.” Seungcheol murmurs, stroking a thumb over Jihoon’s knuckles.

The answer seems self-evident, at least to him, but Jihoon’s fingers twitch uncertainly in his grip, before he pulls his hand away completely.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asks carefully. He knows guilt when he sees it; he is especially well-acquainted with _Jihoon’s_ flavour of guilt, but he doesn’t understand what, if anything, Jihoon has to feel guilty about here.

Jihoon’s lowers his eyes again, his fair, fine boned face turning sad as easily and quickly as a shadow passing over the surface of the moon. 

“I _did_ find you,” He begins, then pauses, searching out the proper words. “But by then it was already too late, and I know what that sounds like, I know it’s confusing, but please try and understand, I never intended for this to happen. You— _you_ are not the Seungcheol I was meant to find.”

Seungcheol rubs his hands over his face, knocking the heel against his temple as if he can force that sentence to make _sense_.

“We’re back to that confusing place again Jihoon, and we were making such great progress; I understood everything right up until that bit. How am I not the Seungcheol you were meant to find? You’re here, and I’m here. We’re here together, aren’t we?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer, just curls in on himself and averts his gaze, anxious, like an animal caught in a trap. Seungcheol watches him lick his lips, watches the sparkle of his panic-wide eyes and forces himself to take a breath and ease back from his interrogative posture.

He wants to be patient, truly, but he honestly can’t understand why Jihoon’s so afraid of sharing his thoughts, like they’re something dark and complex, something to be kept secret. Or maybe they’re not all that bad? Maybe Jihoon just doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to find the right words to make what he wants to say sound less abrasive. Less inhuman.

Then, he hears a quiet, barely-there indrawn breath, and his gaze is instinctively drawn up.

Jihoon's face is still turned away, but the wet, messy gasps are a clear enough indicator that something has shattered. Some hidden, far away part that they were probably never meant to explore.

Seungcheol freezes, caught completely off-guard and almost terrified. He doesn't know if he should reach out, but he reaches out anyway, curling his fingers around Jihoon's forearm and immediately regret swamps him.

He's pushed too far, he thinks, because Jihoon is shaking, he can feel it under his hand.

“Hey, hey—don’t,” Seungcheol puts some sternness into his voice, trying to shake Jihoon out of whatever post-traumatic shock he’s fallen into. “We can talk about this later. Or we can just not talk about it at all. Let’s get some sleep, yeah? How about that?”

“No—” Jihoon retorts with a sudden solidity that draws Seungcheol up short. Then he's moving, pulling away, twisting sideways and jumping out of his seat.

Seungcheol's moving too, before he can think about it, trying to close the distance between them, trying to comfort Jihoon before the frantic expression on the Alien’s face makes him stop.

“I want you to understand Seungcheol. You _need_ to understand this. I—I can’t keep pretending that I have any right to this connection with you. There are infinite timelines, and endless probabilities—millions of Seungcheol’s and millions of me. I have not seen all of them, but I have seen enough to know that by staying here, I am invading. That I am keeping you from finding your own—”

The explanation, which has been building speed from the first word, cuts abruptly short as Jihoon reins himself in with visible difficulty. There's an instant of rigid stillness, and Jihoon closes his eyes, draws a steadying breath.

“Perhaps it will be easier if I demonstrate what I mean.”

* * *

Seungcheol stands in the centre of the greenhouse and wonders wildly— _what the fuck are you doing?_

_What the everloving fuck are you doing?_

By this stage of the game, he likes to think that he has some experience with weird shit his Alien housemate does. Or at least some kind of immunity that prevents him from standing in stunned silence while Jihoon reveals the weird shit he’s been pulling off. But nothing really, _nothing_ could have prepared him for _this_.

“Are you sure this is a good idea Jihoonie?” Seungcheol says, voice hushed in awe, unable to take his eyes off the nightmarish black void before him.

The literal _hole_ in space and time Jihoon’s just introduced him to.

A big part of him wants to freak out, wants to panic and retreat and call Central. Another part of him—let’s call it the stupider more _inquisitive_ side—has him moving closer to the anomaly instead, reaching a hand out to interact with it.

It shimmers blue, glowing faintly as he slides his hand in and quickly out again.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand how it's keeping its shape, because even though it’s dry and weightless to the touch, it’s definitely _viscous_ in nature. More importantly, he doesn’t understand what’s stopping it from _destroying everything_ —why it isn’t swelling and expanding and swallowing the station whole and sending them to infinitum.

But except for a few sensors going haywire on the flight deck when Jihoon first opened it, the void hasn’t created any problems. It just hovers there, pulsing regularly, a slow thrum-thrum-thrumming that vibrates from its sizzling borders, through the fabric of reality itself, and along a seemingly endless tunnel into the abyss.

“Yes, yes, it’s very stable. I have made the appropriate adjustments, and I assure you it will not cause any damage to the ship.” Jihoon answers breathlessly.

He’s been pacing back and forth now for some time, whispering a random jumble of words and equations under his breath like some combination of troubled poet and the universe's most insane mathematics teacher. Only half of it makes sense, but Seungcheol's pretty sure he's not supposed to be understanding it. He’s pretty sure this is just Jihoon’s way of psyching himself up for what lies ahead.

Still, Seungcheol's kind of having a _moment_ here. So the next time the Alien strays close Seungcheol wraps his fingers round his wrist and pulls him to a stop, making escape all but impossible.

“So this is how your species travel through space?”

He can see Jihoon gives him a look out of the corner of his eye–something half exasperated, half amused. “No. Our ships are more than capable of covering the great distances between planets required in space exploration, but rifts such as this one allow for a specialised form of interdimensional travel; a chance to jump between universes that exist in separate timelines.”

Seungcheol fixes his attention away from the portal and back on Jihoon, with some difficulty. “So—we’re just going to jump through this thing to…to another _universe_?”

“Exactly.” Jihoon answers with a happy sign, probably relieved this is one less thing he has to explain to death. “But as this rift is much smaller and much less stable than the one _I_ used to travel here, we must be mindful of the time once we enter.”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Seungcheol asks, “How long do we have exactly?”

“We should not exceed more than thirty minutes in each timeline,” Jihoon says, “but I think that’s more than enough time for this demonstration.”

Seungcheol tries very hard not to react to how suddenly very serious this is, in any sort of outward, obvious, terrified sort of way. He takes a breath and glances down at himself.

“Shouldn’t I at least suit up? In case I suffocate or something.”

For an instant – almost too quick to catch – fear darts through Jihoon's eyes, “N-no. I have already visited these Universes’ before, the atmosphere is quite safe for you.”

“Okay, but—what if we bump into someone? Like giant space monsters.” Seungcheol has to ask, however unlikely that sounds in his head.

“We won’t,” Jihoon says, though the grim set of his mouth belies his assurance. “And even if we do, my suit is adequately equipped to conceal me from detection, and the device I fitted you with creates a barrier around your body to prevent anyone from seeing or hearing you. Our presence should go unnoticed by anyone we happen upon, as long as you do not attempt to interact with any objects. Otherwise, they may think they are being visited by a supernatural entity and get admitted into a psychiatric unit.”

Some of Seungcheol's amusement banks into worry, and he says, “Has that happened before?”

Jihoon’s innocent face is the least believable thing ever. “I don’t know. I didn’t wait around to find out.”

Seungcheol’s widens his eyes comically. “Right, so, don’t touch anything. Got it.”

“Are you ready then?” Jihoon presses cautiously, taking a step toward him. 

Seungcheol's fingers twitch at his side in a moment of uncertainty. He can still walk away, he can admit this is crazy and put it behind him. But one look into Jihoon’s eyes and he knows there's no choice, really. He _has_ to know what’s happening.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, and when he opens them again, he puts all the steel he can conjure into his expression. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jihoon nods once, and then, carefully, he reaches out and takes Seungcheol’s hand.

"For your own safety. I'd hate to lose track of you in there."

Seungcheol resists the urge to argue that he is _right here_ at Jihoon's side, that he’s not going to vanish without warning. But as they take their first step through the void, he can feel the emptiness of such a promise.

Everything starts to shift, the room bending and warping, their surroundings become less and less tangible with every passing moment. Everything is light and movement and a ceaseless murmur of sound and Seungcheol senses prickle, hyper-aware and distorted at the same time, skewed by the conflicting signals bombarding his brain.

A second ago he knew _exactly_ where he was standing; now he can't even recall if he’s onboard the station anymore because before he knows it, he's standing in a huge, blinding white chasm that stretches as far as the eye can see, and he—well, he appears to be hovering in the middle of it.

“Oh shit!” He flails in a desperate panic, tightening his hold on Jihoon's hand, terrified he’ll fall.

But that doesn’t happen. It’s as if, inexplicably, gravity has packed up and gone fishing.

In fact, if he closes his eyes, it feels just like he’s on solid ground.

"Come," Jihoon says softly. Warm skin, slim fingers, strength in the answering grip. "This way.”

Nodding shakily, Seungcheol lets Jihoon tug him along through the wide, endless space of the void. He’d been briefed, _briefly_ , on what to expect, but the tightness squeezing his heart doesn’t ease; his mind feels heavy. Foggy. Muffled as though some dampening liquid is sloshing around in his brain, turning reality blurry, and with each step they take deeper into the void, he feels like Christopher Columbus, waiting to fall off the face of the Earth.

It feels like it could happen at any moment.

Worse still, there isn’t a single landmark in here he can use to navigate—just endless fucking whiteness the like of which Seungcheol has never seen before. At least Columbus had a map, a compass, _here there be dragons_ , and whatever. All Seungcheol has is _Jihoon_ , who seems to be navigating this void on instinct.

Which is a whole extra tier of _nope_.

How are they going to find their way out? How is _Seungcheol_ meant to find his way out of he loses track of him?

Seungcheol’s so busy worrying about that, too busy trying not to _lose_ his fucking shit, that he doesn't realize they’ve emerged from the void until Jihoon falls still beside him.

Seungcheol freezes in place too, blinking.

A darkened room surrounds them now. A hotel suite somewhere in _Paris_ , by the view outside the window. It’s sparsely furnished in way you’d expect of a hotel room, but luxurious enough that it looks _way_ out of his budget.

Now that he's not on the verge of hyperventilating, Seungcheol turns, his eyes casing the room, taking in everything at once. There’s a tray of room service on the floor, contents spilled sideways in a way that suggests it was shoved aside quickly, and there’s a tie hanging from the chandelier that possibly suggests _why_.

Other than that, it’s all pretty…ordinary?

Which is…huh.

For some reason he was expecting to find himself somewhere a little more _wacky,_ like a wild west themed planet entirely populated by giant ducks or something. But, no, Jihoon’s just brought them to an ordinary hotel room on an ordinary street in the middle of Paris. Surrounded by ordinary furniture and ordinary looking piles of discarded clothes. Even the sun is rising in an ordinary sort of way outside the window and Seungcheol finds himself more than a little annoyed at the world for being so fucking _ordinary_ when his own life suddenly feels anything but.

He’s beginning to think this whole thing is one bizarre practical joke Jihoon’s trying to pull on him, until he thinks to glance sideways and realises they’re not alone.

The room is not empty, and not at all silent. There is movement on the bed. An unmistakable breathlessness to hushed words. A rhythmic quality to the slide of skin and fabric in the quiet. Two people occupying an intimate space.

In the dimness, it’s hard to make out who he’s looking at, until Jihoon ushers him closer and—

“Holy shit.” Seungcheol says quietly, and he's amazed his voice isn't higher, isn't more hysterical. The situation totally warrants a _little_ hysterical because that man on the bed is _him_.

_No. Wait. That can’t be right._

“Are you okay Peanut? Am I hurting you?” Says the man wearing his face.

It is, above all else, surreal to see himself in this way. Observing from a distance, strange and detached and not quite right. Like some crazy out of body experience or something.

That is _him_ though—there's no mistaking the man on the bed for anyone else. He’s a little older looking, sure, a little broader in the shoulders and that tattoo of a Wolf Seungcheol’s got on his shoulder is missing. And _okay_ , Seungcheol wasn’t going to mention it, but the guy’s merchandise is _far_ more impressive. But other than that, it’s him. It’s _him_. And that petite blonde moaning under him, urging him to continue is unmistakably _Jihoon_.

 _They’re just hallucinations_ —he thinks at first, but on reflection, they _can’t_ be. It's not just that he can see them—he can _feel_ them too; every breath they take, every movement, every last syllable, he feels it all like a physical presence, rebounding off the invisible matrix that surrounds him.

“Seungcheol? Are you okay?”

Jihoon's hand squeezing around his own settles the worst of the strangeness, and when Seungcheol turns to look at him, just catching sight of his Snowflake again is enough to clear his disorientation.

Almost like slipping from half-sleep into a vivid and cohesive dream.

“This must be very strange for you.” Jihoon says, a furrow between his eyebrows, blatant worry written across his expressive face.

Seungcheol looks him in the eye and asks the only possible question. “Are we travelling through time? Is this the future?”

“No, to both those questions,” Jihoon says, with a small grim smile. “Time travel is impossible Seungcheol. If it were possible—I would have taken advantage of it.”

“Then why do those guys look just like us?” Seungcheol asks, openly confounded. Then something occurs to him, something that him gawking at the Alien in surprised outrage. “Did you clone us Jihoon? Did you fucking clone me like I told you not to? You did, didn’t you. You cloned me and gave me an even bigger dick. That’s not cool man, that’s not cool at all. I’m genuinely fucking offended right now. Isn’t my dick big enough for you? Why would you do that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes at him, but fond exasperation softens his expression. “No Seungcheol, I did not clone us. They look like us, because it _is_ us. What you are looking at is the Seungcheol and Jihoon of _another_ Universe. Another _timeline_ that exists in parallel to the one we currently inhabit.”

Seungcheol bites at a corner of his lower lip as his brain higher functions kick into gear grudgingly.

That sounds a lot like the excited gibberish Jihoon was spouting before, though now, with what he’s just witnessed first-hand, it’s beginning to sound less cryptic.

“H-how, _how_ is all this possible?”

Guiding him back through the portal, Jihoon begins explaining how his species developed the technology to allow for interdimensional travel. How _eons_ ago, they manipulated the gravitational Singularity of a black hole to open up new worlds for their exploration. He speaks slowly, patiently, taking the time to break things down, like he needs Seungcheol to _understand_ before he can ask Seungcheol to _believe_ him.

It’s some of the craziest shit Seungcheol's ever heard. Every word is less plausible than the last, but Seungcheol doesn't interrupt, and by the time Jihoon explains the Multiverse theory—Seungcheol's head is spinning six ways from Sunday.

The implications are staggering. Travelling through a black hole was mind boggling enough, but _this_. Multiple universes— _millions of them_ —it's like nothing Seungcheol has ever fathomed. Suddenly a whole lot of the crazy things Jihoon’s been saying come very close to making sense.

“So—what we saw back there, that wasn’t us. That was another me and you, from another Universe.” Seungcheol blurts out.

He realises he's speaking too fast, breath rushing out of him, pulse thundering in his throat and his mouth. But he can’t help it, because this is actually insane and there are so many things he wants to ask, all clogged up inside his mouth.

“Yes—exactly.” Jihoon smiles, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time; there are millions, potentially billions of other Seungcheol’s and Jihoon’s existing in their own universes; we are but one version existing in a separate timeline.”

Adrenaline is lighting Seungcheol's nerves up like the best rush, and he hears himself ask, “Can you show me _other_ timelines?”

Jihoon gapes at him for a long, startled moment before murmuring, “I—I _suppose_.”

* * *

The second portal they step through/into?? Brings them into an office of sorts. A large, corner office in some unfamiliar high-rise tower.

It’s elaborately decorated wherever it is, with the sort of rustic office style Seungcheol’s only ever seen in really old TV shows; gleaming marble floors, dark mahogany wood and dull brass finishes that have been out of fashion for _years_. It even has that ancient cigarette stink hanging heavy in the air, as if the room is held together by sheer nicotine—which, _Jesus_ , what century did they step into?

Who still smokes?

And then there’s the _2019_ desk calendar of course, which— _duh_. That _should_ have probably been a dead giveaway. But if it wasn’t enough to convince him this Verse exists a century or two behind his own, the view outside the floor to ceiling window leaves no room for doubt.

It’s the Seoul city skyline—but not as he knows it. It’s cleaner for one, and far brighter too. Even the _sky_ is bluer, dotted with far less skyscrapers and congestion than he remembers.

In his rush to approach the window and inspect further, Seungcheol almost loses his footing on the thick rug beneath him and has to grab at the desk to catch himself. The movement, instinctive and unplanned, sends a pen rolling across the surface.

“Be careful Seungcheol, we are not alone.” Jihoon snaps at him.

Seungcheol tenses immediately, eyes darting frantically around the room. In his strange haze of unreality, he’d completely missed the figure sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk, a man that slowly turns to glance around the seemingly empty room with slit eyed suspicion and—

Seungcheol starts in a sudden shock of recognition because that’s _him_ again. This man lounging back in the chair, looking like a million dollars with his sleek suit, slicked back hair and shiny Rolex is him somehow, and Seungcheol’s rational mind _protests_.

How can that be him? How?

And, sure—okay, obviously it is him. Seungcheol knows what his own face looks like, he isn’t some kind of overly poetic, philosophical idiot. He understands that this is the Seungcheol of _this_ Universe. But still, this much swankier version of himself feels more like an amazingly vivid dream. 

“This is another alternate version of you that exists in _this_ alternate reality.” Jihoon explains, padding forward carefully.

He stops at the foot of the desk, right in front of the second Seungcheol, but it’s like he’s invisible; the Seungcheol behind the desk looks right at him, through him, then slowly swivels his chair back to face the window.

“In this reality, you are the head of an organized crime syndicate that controls most of illegal operations in Asia.”

Seungcheol stares, stunned not at the bluntness of Jihoon’s words, but at how utterly improbable they sound.

“Seriously? I’m like some kind of…. Mafia King pin here?”

“Yes,” Jihoon nods, “A very powerful and dangerous man, feared by many. I suspect you are so evil, you are permanently on Santa’s naughty list and receive no gifts at Christmas.”

Seungcheol isn't sure what to say to that. Strangely enough what come out was hapless honesty, “Wow. I didn’t think I had it in me to be this _cool_.”

Jihoon turns to level him a deeply censorious look just as there’s a knock on the door, and in comes _alternate Jihoon_.

It’s strange seeing him like _this_ ; the same sweet face, yet so different. With his jet-black hair, sharp suit and stern expression, he looks more like a Wall Street tycoon than the light of Seungcheol’s life.

But this alternate Seungcheol practically vibrates with joy at his arrival, grinning like a man possessed as Alternate Jihoon crosses the room and takes a seat, helps himself to a cup of coffee from the platter of refreshments on offer.

There’s a variety of cakes too, though Alternate Jihoon doesn’t help himself to any of them—despite how obviously he wants one. He just scowls at them instead, like their very presence offends him, until Alternate Seungcheol chuckles and says, “You know, you have the most adorable resting bitch face. Has anyone ever told you that my little cabbage?”

Alternate Jihoon’s gaze is withering and immediate and predictable, but there’s something — something a little—

Huh.

And there it is; the hallmark of their relationship: apprehension mixed with equal parts desire. Even in a completely different universe, under conditions and circumstances widely different to their own, there’s this….this… _connection_. A pull of sorts, where they can hardly be in the same room for more than ten minutes at a time before they’re staring at each other’s lips and fidgeting in their seats.

Seungcheol very much wants to watch what happens next, but then Jihoon’s tapping him on the shoulder and informing him there time is up, they have to leave.

* * *

The next portal brings them to a college dorm room so small and narrow, Seungcheol almost brains himself against a bookshelf when he emerges.

“You know, you don’t have to _leap_ through the portal. A single step will suffice.” Jihoon says, appearing next to him with much more poise and elegance.

Seungcheol opens his mouth to argue, but all his excuses come skidding to a stop when he glances over at the bed in the corner.

There’s a very naked Jihoon lying there, the pink head of his cock peeking out of his fist as he works himself over, staring down at what he is doing with a dazed expression of wonder.

Seungcheol’s stomach twists into a hot knot at the sight and he’s taking a step forward before he abruptly remembers where he is, what he’s doing, how he’s not _supposed_ to engage with the scenery, and quickly takes a step back.

It didn’t occur to him before how much an invasion of privacy this demonstration is, but it’s occurring to him now. And pretty damn graphically too. Even if there is a tripod set up on the desk _filming_ the whole thing, he can’t help but feel a little seedy standing here, in secret, watching a guy fap and wiggle his ass at the camera like he’s getting paid to do it.

And then, just when he thinks this Jihoon can’t get anymore slutty—out come the three 12-inch dildos.

“Sweet Mary mother of god.” Seungcheol croaks, then belatedly tries to arrange his face into a stern expression of _oh God, what the hell is going on_ , or at the very least, he makes sure not to lick his lips.

"Jihoon?" He raises an eyebrow inquiringly. “Where’d you bring me?”

Jihoon himself looks more than a little stunned at the display laid out before them, and quickly refocuses his attention on one of the posters on the wall. It’s rare that Seungcheol gets to see him truly uncomfortable like this, but watching another version of yourself insert not one, not two, but _three_ dildos into their asshole, probably warrants _some_ level of second-hand embarrassment.

“I’m not entirely sure.” Jihoon murmurs, something disturbed in his tone. “The last time I visited this Universe I don’t recall my alter being quite so… _explicit_ , only that he occasionally posted adult rated imagery online in exchange for financial aid.”

Seungcheol blinks in surprise, and his voice comes out a little rough around the edges when he says, “He’s a _camboy_?”

Jihoon frowns, “Yes, I believe that is the correct terminology.” 

Seungcheol licks his lips nervously and laughs, “And what do _I_ do here?”

“You are a businessman who funds my lifestyle. In exchange, I offer you company and sexual pleasure.”

Seungcheol can feel his face heat, “So I’m your _sugar daddy then?”_

“Yes, that’s exactly what I call you here,” Jihoon says. And then, with the furrow at the centre of his brow deepening with fresh confusion, “Which is a little strange, seeing as I’m quite positive we’re not related.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to correct that misunderstanding, but then Camboy! Jihoon chooses that moment to start _fisting_ himself and, _well_ —it’s excusable to get a _little_ distracted.

“Wow, he sure is _flexible_.”

Jihoon grunts something in response, something incomprehensible, but huffy and irritated all the same. When Seungcheol looks back over his shoulder at him, he finds the Alien staring blankly at some indefinable spot on the far wall like it holds the secrets of the universe, a bright luminescent green glow radiating off him.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol murmurs, backing up until he can look Jihoon in the eye. “And what’s up with this funky green glow you’ve got going on? Wait, don’t tell me. You’re jealous aren’t you. Jealous I’m checking him out.” He teases.

Jihoon turns to spare a quick at his alter, snorts at him with distaste then turns his back to the bed again. “Yes, I am very jealous. Especially since you’ve been ogling him so openly since we arrived and commending his _flexibility_.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol blinks, stunned by the unexpected admission.

The practiced blank of his expression has fallen away, and he knows he's broadcasting every single feeling to dart through his head. But he can't seem to put the mask back on. Those words are the last he ever expected to hear, because people don’t _usually_ admit they’re jealous about stuff outright.

Usually they deflect for a bit, make up some other vague reasons for being angry, then get angry with _him_ for not figuring it all out. So it’s kind of a relief actually, that Jihoon’s ready to just _lay_ out all his insecurities for Seungcheol to see.

His special little Snowflake even comes with his own colour warning system—which is not only super helpful, but honestly, pretty fucking cute.

“I’m sorry Snowflake, I didn’t mean to make you jealous.” Sheepishness tints Seungcheol's words, and he gives a helpless shrug, “But if it’s any consolation, I was only enjoying the view because, well, he’s _you_. If he was anyone else, I wouldn’t be interested in looking at him at all.”

Jihoon peers up at him for a long time, a charming contradiction of thoughtfulness and anger. A dark flush reddens his cheeks a split second before he ducks his head and starts scuffing the carpet with his toe, “I must admit that does make me feel moderately better.”

Seungcheol chuckles, rubbing his back in a soothing gesture, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Okay, but give me a moment.” Jihoon says, then before Seungcheol can blink, he’s ducking under Seungcheol’s arm, darting across the room and swiping a hand across the cluttered desktop. Everything goes crashing to the floor, including a very expensive looking laptop and the camera, which cuts the live stream short and has Camboy! Jihoon bolting upright in surprise.

“What the fuck Jihoon!” Seungcheol hisses. “What happened to _not_ interfering with the scenery?”

But oh, it’s not over.

It’s not over by a long shot.

As Seungcheol watches on, Jihoon rushes around the room, fluffing the duvet cover, swishing the curtains back and forth, tossing pillows in the air and flicking the lights on and off, creating random chaos until Camboy!Jihoon is cowering on his bed, clutching his phone against his ear and whimpering, “S-seungcheol! P-please come over. I-I think my dorm room is haunted.”

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol strides across the room and loops an arm around Jihoon’s waist; not dragging him out, exactly, but fully prepared to if Jihoon doesn’t stop trying to write ‘SANTA HATES YOU’ on the mirror with a sharpie.

“You know what, I take it back—jealousy is _not_ a good look on you.”

* * *

The next Universe they enter is _unsettling_ to say the least.

When they first emerge and take a look around, Seungcheol blinks. Twice. But doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say anymore.

Something is terribly wrong, and he can't quite put his finger on what, exactly. He knows it  
has something to do with this exact moment they’ve arrived at, this exact span of time, where they are in relation to this universe. The _Something Wrong_ has something to do with this timeline’s progression, and nothing to do with them suddenly entering it, which is pretty fucked up considering everything around them seems to have just…

S _topped_.

“Why’s nobody moving?” Seungcheol says, speaking more to the room at large than Jihoon.

Jihoon cants his head, expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. I used to visit this universe quite regularly, and everything was progressing pleasantly. Then suddenly, it reached this moment in time and stopped."

"At first, I thought my presence had disturbed the timeline somehow, but there are countless other universes just like this one—frozen in time for some unexplainable reason. I’ve never been able to figure out why.”

With everything _frozen_ in time, there aren’t any of the usual surface interactions present to give them a glimpse of life in this Verse. So Seungcheol spends a moment studying their surroundings, flipping through the textbooks and magazines sitting on the desk, rooting the contents of the dresser drawers, and fawning over the vintage compact disk collection, which woah, _CD’s_ —they’re living in the literal _dark ages_ of data storage.

“Well, we’re definitely college students.” Seungcheol murmurs, tossing a student ID back on the desk. “And that banner, with the Greek lettering hanging outside the window makes this a frat house.”

As for who’s _room_ this is, it’s anyone’s guess.

There are traces of both of them here, and everyone’s present and accounted for. A bleach blonde version of Jihoon is present, sitting cross legged on the bed with a pinched look on his face, as well as an alternate of Seungcheol, standing at the door with his back to the bed.

It’s only when Seungcheol finally approaches his alternate self for a closer look, that he suddenly recognises a _third_ face.

“Hey, I know this guy.” He says, catching sight of the guy standing just beyond the threshold of the open door. “This is Mingyu—he’s a space pilot too, my best friend back on Earth actually.” He turns to look at this verse’s version of himself. “And _woah_ —look at me. I look so _young_.”

Despite the frown lines marring his expression, the Seungcheol of this Universe still looks young and fresh faced, no more than twenty years old by Seungcheol’s estimate. Even the clothes he’s wearing are a mildly depressing reminder of how close to thirty _he_ is; with the skin-tight jeans Seungcheol hasn’t managed to pull off in years, and a pair of battered converse sneakers that would look ridiculous on him now. The battered motherfucker of a leather jacket Seungcheol lost at a club once is here too, and exactly as he remembers it—the material distressed and wrinkled like a weather-beaten face as it hangs on the closet door.

“From the data I recorded on my previous visit, you are exactly 21 Earth cycles in age in this universe. A physical therapy student in Seoul University.” Jihoon pipes in suddenly.

Seungcheol turns to see him swiping through some holographic interface on his tricorder, a random jumble of numbers and symbols suspended in the air in front of him.

“I am also a college student here, and I join your fraternity chapter after you mistake me for a rival fraternity’s mascot and kidnap me. Later, I am kidnapped by a roommate of mine with nefarious intentions, and you rescue me from a burning building.”

Seungcheol smiles crookedly at him, “Why do I feel like this kidnapping is a theme.”

Jihoon’s mouth turns up with ironic humour. “It is. Though I honestly fail to see _why_ it keeps happening. I’m certain I don’t have any inherently kidnappable qualities to speak of.”

Seungcheol gives him a soft look across the room that he’s sure perfectly conveys his unspoken, _Yes, yes you do,_ and makes a mental note to get him fitted with a tracker the second the touch down on Earth.

* * *

The next Universe they step into is enough to make Seungcheol believe in _fairies_. Because if he’s not mistaken, that’s a fucking mermaid splashing in that rock pool.

No. Scratch that.

That’s a _Merman_.

A Merman with Jihoon’s _face_.

He’s sitting on a large boulder, singing to himself quite happily as his tail dips and crests the water, though as Seungcheol crouches down to get a closer look at him, his spine straightens almost imperceptibly, and his keen eyes sharpen on Seungcheol. “You’re late Seungcheol.”

Jerking backwards in surprise, Seungcheol almost loses his footing.

“Uh—” He begins, turning to level an anxious look at Jihoon. _His_ Jihoon, “I thought he wouldn’t be able to see me?”

Jihoon’s brow furrows, deep lines of confusion, as if he's not entirely sure what’s going on.

Seungcheol knows that feeling intimately, it's nice to see it on _Jihoon’s_ face for a change.

“Technically he shouldn’t, unless…”

Jihoon trails off—then gets that twitchy look that belongs to the rare occasion when he realises he’s fucked up somehow and doesn’t want to admit it. Before Seungcheol can ask him if they’re going to die in the next five seconds, he’s scrambling to remove the cloaking device he cuffed to Seungcheol’s wrist and scampering away to ‘repair the damage Seungcheol made’.

“You just can’t admit you fucked up, huh? It just has to be my fault.” Seungcheol snorts.

“Who are you talking too?” Mer!Jihoon huffs, flicking his gaze between Seungcheol and Jihoon’s general vicinity. “And why are you dressed in such odd clothing? You look— _strange_.” He adds, peering into Seungcheol’s face so earnestly Seungcheol nearly flinches beneath the scrutiny.

“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk. You’re a freaking _mermaid_ pal.” Seungcheol snorts.

Mer!Jihoon pinches his lips together, and for a moment, Seungcheol thinks he’s actually going to start yelling. But instead he just whips his tail through the rockpool and sends a tidal wave of water splashing over Seungcheol’s head.

By the time Seungcheol manages to see enough to wring the saltwater out of his clothes, the Merboy has already flung himself into the pool, and is now busy splashing about with a dramatic air of bereavement, making sad dolphin noises.

“You should not anger him Seungcheol.” Jihoon scolds from the side-lines, where he’s busy tinkering with his tricorder. “If you upset him, you will likely hinder his relationship with the Seungcheol of _this_ Universe. The effects of which could be catastrophic.”

Seungcheol mentally kicks himself. Outwardly, he affects an apologetic smile and holds out a placating hand. “Hey, listen. I’m sorry, okay. I’ve just had a really rough, confusing day and I took it out on you. I didn’t mean to. Can you forgive me?”

The Merboy immediately stops yelping like a seal and swims over to the rock Seungcheol’s perched on, levering himself up gracefully.

“Okay, I forgive you. But only if you give me a gift.”

He sounds just the same; clipped, and practical, as if words should be used sparingly, and preferably only when they can be applied with a liberal amount of sarcasm. The recognition ripples through Seungcheol, warm and familiar, and he can’t help but smile.

“Deal.”

Straightening up, Seungcheol starts fishing (no pun intended) through his pockets, pulling out scraps of paper and lint, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here we are,” He announces, producing a stick of gum.

Mer! Jihoon eyes the stick of gum like it's about to attack him, then crosses his arms over his chest impatiently. “I don’t like it. It doesn’t very look very _edible_.”

“Well, you’re not meant to eat it exactly, you’re meant to _chew_ it.” Seungcheol tells him, seeing Mer-Jihoon in a whole new and more tragic light now, to think of his entire watery, Merboy upbringing without a single item of confectionary. “Just try it, okay. It’s good. You put it in your mouth and chew it. But be careful not to swallow it—or it will take seven years for you to poop out.”

The Merboy, now wearing an endearingly dumbfounded expression, carefully extracts a single stick from the back. “Does—does it at least _taste_ nice?”

“Oh yeah, it’s strawberry flavoured.”

“STRAWBERRY?!” Mer! Jihoon squeals, then in a flash, he’s shoving the gum into his mouth, paper and all.

Seungcheol is forced to spend a few minutes coaxing him to spit it back out, so he can remove the paper sleeve, then another few minutes instructing him how to chew, then he knocks back his own piece of gum to teach the Merboy how to blow bubbles, which of course the Merboy thinks is the _best thing ever._

Honestly, Seungcheol can’t remember ever being _this_ excited about anything in his life—even as a kid. But Mer!Jihoon is unmeasured excitement, bright with something almost like joy despite the narrow contours of his existence in this Verse. He’s twice as inquisitive as his Snowflake, and about ten times more emotional, and when he finally blows his first successful bubble, Seungcheol has to clap his hands over his ears to shield them from all the happy, squeaky dolphin sounds.

“I take it you liked that, huh?”

The Merboy smiles up at him, with the kind of ecstatic devotion _his_ Jihoon usually reserves for ice cream sundaes with real whipped cream and a minimum of three maraschino cherries. “Yes, thank you Seungcheol. You always bring me the nicest gifts.”

Seungcheol grins, reaching out to tickle him under the chin, “You’re so fucking cute, if I could take you home with me, I would.”

A throat clearing sound from somewhere behind him draws his attention to Jihoon, now standing with his hands on his hips and an impatient look on his face. “If you are finished, I would like to leave. Any longer and we can irreversibly alter this timelines quantum state.”

They’ve still got ten minutes left according to Seungcheol’s watch, but he nods and rises to his feet, which is a much safer option all round than pointing out that Jihoon’s eagerness to leave has obviously got _nothing_ to do with ‘quantum state’ of anything, and everything to do with the resurgence of the green-eyed monster.

Mer!Jihoon squeaks sadly as he turns to leave, pushing himself up further on the rocks.

“Wait? Where are you going? Aren’t you going to come swim with me?” He asks in a painfully hopeful tone.

Seungcheol offers him a rueful smile. “I wish I could,” He sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind the Merboy's ear, “But I’m a little busy now. I have to get back to uhm, to _work_.”

Mer-Jihoon makes a sulky face at him. Then he switches tactics immediately and says, “Give me the rest of your gum and I won’t be sad with you.”

Seungcheol scoffs, mildly amused to find that emotional blackmail is apparently a very prevalent trait amongst Jihoons. Nevertheless, he hands over the rest of his packet; he’s helpless before Jihoon’s dimples and blue eyes. That will never change, he supposes.

* * *

It was perhaps a little naïve to think a Mermaid would be the weirdest thing he’d see today.

In fact, Merboy!Jihoon ranks kind of _low_ on the scale of weird when you compare him to _Hybrid Kitten! Jihoon_ and tiny-palm-sized _Fairy!Jihoon_ and fire breathing _Dragon!Jihoon_ , or even the tiny kitten that twines around Seungcheol’s legs in one Universe that turns out to be _Shapeshifting-Lawyer!Jihoon._

Then there’s maybe the _weirdest_ Jihoon of them all: Pickle!Jihoon. Which... _yeah._

Seungcheol still can’t wrap his head around that one. He’d given that tiny smiling pickle person about two seconds' of thought before deciding he didn’t need to understand. He’s just going to pretend that wasn’t actually a thing he saw and swear to never eat Pickles again.

And the weirdness doesn’t just stop there. Oh no. Seungcheol has his own fair share of weird alternates to contend with.

In a handful of jumps, he’s seen himself as everything from a dashing Prince Charming to a gun toting biker, sometimes drawing his sword to defend a baby dragon and sometimes shooting people point blank in the head. There’s even a Universe straight out of some Jane Austen novel or some shit, where he’s a fucking _Duke_ who rides horses like it’s nobodies business and speaks all _posh_ like. Then another Universe where he’s also a Duke, but also a _Duck_ for some insane reason.

Not every Universe they stop at is a hair-raising experience of course, some are just your average, everyday Universes, with an alarm waking them up in the morning and casual chats over coffee. Seungcheol watches himself sleep in one Universe, brush his teeth in the next. Watches Jihoon burn his dinner to a crisp in one moment, then watches himself arrive at the door as the pizza delivery guy, sees the spark build between them as they flirt.

He’s taken to categorising these particular Universes as _the dull ones_. Not because they’re any less fascinating to observe, but because they’re quiet, simple—mundane little glimpses of a life he could easily imagine himself having one day.

Which is probably why next Universe they stop at ends up knocking him off his feet.

He’d let his guard down and had been too quick to categorise it as dull when it was anything but. Though in his defence, it _seemed_ pretty mundane on the surface—it _seemed_ to be just another beautiful beach, where the ocean is cat’s-eye green, choppy with white breakers, and the sand was grey and silky-soft. Until Seungcheol thought to look closer, and promptly had his mind _blown_.

“You could move closer you know.” Jihoon murmurs.

Seungcheol shakes his head emphatically, “I—I can’t.”

Even though he’s over the initial shock, he doesn’t dare approach the rainbow Parasol their alters are lounging under again. Instead, he sits a good deal away, with his pants rolled to his knees, his collar unbuttoned, his socks stuffed in his pocket and watches the waves. Beside him, Jihoon sits running his fingers through the sand, watching it trickle out in a thin stream.

“I don’t understand what you’re so _scared_ of. They’re just children.” Jihoon's tone is patiently reasonable, almost as though he is _teasing_ rather than talking about something agonizingly serious. 

Seungcheol frowns at him pointedly, before slowly turning his head back towards the beach where two children are trying to rope their father into helping them build a sandcastle. “They’re not just children Jihoon—they’re _our_ children.”

They’re non-identical _twins_ actually, a boy and a girl, and that’s all Jihoon managed to tell him before Seungcheol’s brain shorted out because… _kids_.

They have _kids_ together here.

Seungcheol can’t quite make out their features this far away, but he’s honestly afraid of moving any closer—of seeing those two sweet little faces, a cross-stitching of their genealogy, and then to never see them again. It's a little like being offered a chance to see the true face of God—knowing that once you see it, nothing that comes after will ever be the same.

It’ll eat him up inside, _knowing_ what he can have, but _not_ having it.

“Seungcheol? What’s wrong?” Jihoon’s voice cuts through the spiral of Seungcheol's thoughts. “My tricorder is detecting a concerning amount of emotional distress.”

“How can you be _chill_ about this?” Seungcheol wheezes, flailing a hand in the direction of their offspring. _Their_ children. “We have kids together here. _Kids_.”

Jihoon cants his head, one eyebrow raising slightly “Many human couples have children. I’ve been led to believe that is primarily how your species re-populate.”

Seungcheol barks out a surprised laugh. He expected it to be a lot harder to talk about this, but there’s something about Jihoon that makes it easier somehow. Maybe because he’s so damn _blunt_ about everything. 

“Yes, while that is true, it only happens between members of the opposite sex Jihoon. When it’s a relationship between two guys, two _males_ —having children usually involves adoption. Not male _pregnancy_.”

Jihoon looks both curious and discomfited by this apparently _new_ information. He’s quiet for a while, giving Seungcheol half-glances out of the side of his eye, until finally Seungcheol asks, “What?”

A split second of alarm crosses Jihoon's face. But it blanks quickly, and turns once again into a careful mask of guarded neutrality. 

“Nothing, I—I just,” His brow furrows. “I didn’t realise the males of your species could not get pregnant.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say to that. Instead he arches both eyebrows without a word.

Jihoon looks back at him, stiff-faced. “It’s not exactly an area I’ve had a lot of opportunity to _research_.” He shoots back defensively. “I just assumed your human physiology would closely resemble my own, seeing as we were considered so _compatible_.”

“Hold up—are you saying you can get _pregnant_?” Seungcheol asks, because his brain suddenly decides that's the most important question he needs answered right now.

Jihoon shrugs half-way, “Under optimal conditions, yes.”

“Define optimal.” Seungcheol says, unable to stop himself.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Jihoon drops his gaze as he starts fiddling with a seashell. “A safe location with a temperate climate for one—sufficient nutrients, water, air, oh, and of course, the most important factor of all— _sunlight_.”

Seungcheol eyeballs him, because if he’s not mistaken, Jihoon’s just described himself as some kind of walking, talking _plant_ basically. Or more accurately, a walking, talking _Alien_ plant.

_A walking, talking Alien plant that can get pregnant!_

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Seungcheol lies back on the sand with his hands behind his head and stares up at the blue, blue sky for a moment. The sun is warm, and there’s a breeze and somewhere behind him, an ice cream vendor is parking up his cart and setting up shop. It’s a perfect day and place for a family outing—a concept which is perhaps _not_ so out of the realms of possibility for himself anymore?

Maybe?

Though Seungcheol's going to quietly slide that thought aside rather than think about whether or not he got his Alien housemate pregnant last night.

“So, in every universe does every Seungcheol have a Jihoon?” He asks, mostly to distract himself.

Jihoon shrugs, a noncommittal gesture that matches neither the serious look on his face nor the taut line of his body Seungcheol is deliberately not reading. When he finally speaks, his eyes are on horizon.

“It’s impossible to say for sure. It stands to reason that there should be numerous probabilities where they never meet and from a connection, but I have yet to find one during my travels.”

Seungcheol sits up and squints at him. “Well then...maybe we should travel to a Universe you _haven’t_ travelled to.”

Jihoon seems happy to do exactly that.

* * *

There’s nothing to see in the next Universe. Nothing but a dusty room in an old, enormous Gothic mansion located on the lonely outskirts of town. Still, Seungcheol can feel the jitteriness at the edge of his nerves as he stands in the centre of the master bedroom.

This, he thinks, is true loneliness. This dark and altogether barren room, with it’s peeling wallpaper and yellowing varnish, the moth-eaten oriental carpets patchy with spots of colour; a lingering memory of a more decadent time.

The entire property needs a hell of a lot of work—that much is evident even without stepping inside—but someone seems to have moved in anyway. There’s a ton of moving boxes stacked in the corridor and a _SOLD_ sign sticking upright in the gravel outside, so someone must have looked at this ruin, with its rotted floorboards and crumbling foundations and literal holes in the roof and thought _home_.

Whoever they are though, they’re not here now.

Everything is dark and silent, save for the howl of the wind outside and the soft tap-tap of a branch knocking against the window.

“Well this is dull. There’s nobody here.” Seungcheol huffs, circling the room, footsteps, heavy and deliberate on the hardwood floors.

He’s feeling tired and it’s beginning to show; the long crack down the middle of the grime-darkened mirror seems to show him two halves of himself, and in one, he looks pretty dead on his feet.

“That’s strange,” Jihoon frowns, sparing a glance around the room. “My readings indicate there is.”

Seungcheol throws his hands up in the air, “Well unless this is the X-men universe where everyone has superpowers and we’re invisible—”

The door slamming shut behind him startles Seungcheol into complete silence.

He stands perfectly still, disbelief and shock keeping him rooted in place, then quickly turns his head to look at Jihoon, as though he might offer some explanation. Unfortunately, Jihoon looks as bewildered as he is though—and when the second door, the one leading to the bathroom slams shut a moment later, he looks just about as spooked too.

Seungcheol fists his hands at his sides, even though he has no idea what he's bracing for. Hell, he might be bracing for nothing at all. A couple doors shutting on their own don't mean anything's gone awry. They’ve seen a ton of weird shit over the last few hours, like _really_ weird shit. This is nowhere near the strangest.

But a second later, when the chandelier begins to flicker to life above them, Seungcheol is forced to revise that thought. There’s nothing there now of course—but just for a second, just a fraction of a blink, he could have sworn he saw someone lying there. Someone tall and pale, lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

Seungcheol staggers back blindly, feeling his heart beating through the palms of his hand.

Just then, the music box sitting on the dresser comes to life, it’s warbling tune echoing through the high-ceilinged room. Seungcheol twists his head to look at, unexpected nerves tightening his stomach, but there’s nothing to be seen.

There’s nobody there. Just the sole figurine of a male dancer twirling in place, his arms held high where his dancing partner should fit.

“I don’t know about you, but this place is creeping me the fuck out.” Seungcheol hisses.

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees in an inflectionless tone that suggests he's sparing no attention at all for this conversation.

When Seungcheol turns towards him, Jihoon’s standing by the huge floor to ceiling mirror, tracing a crack with the tip of his finger. There's a tightening then, a tension in Jihoon's body language as he lifts his head to glance at his reflection and freezes. Seungcheol wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't looking, but those alien blue eyes are wider than ever now, almost terrified.

Seungcheol desperately wants to ask him what he can see, but can't seem to find his voice past the sudden tightness in his throat.

Whatever it is, it’s scaring Jihoon. He’s frozen, staring in shocked silence past his own reflection at _something_ —something hovering in the corner of the room.

When Seungcheol slowly turns his own head to look in the direction, all he can see is an empty armchair. Outwardly, there’s nothing special about the decaying leather monstrosity rotting in the corner. Nothing out of balance, or unusual. But there's something drawing him towards it nonetheless, a nagging murmur of deja vu that he can’t quite define but leaves him feeling oddly powerless, makes him cross the room without really meaning to.

Before he can reach out and touch the presence drawing him in, Jihoon grabs hold of his hand and tugs him back roughly.

“This was a mistake. We need to leave, _now_.”

“Yeah, okay,” Seungcheol’s voice comes back sounding strange, thick and tangled like a clog has been pulled from his throat. The last thing he hears is the sound of [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2hH5-SEWzo) drifting up from somewhere below, before they’re stumbling back through the portal, the fabric of reality sealing shut behind them.

* * *

It’s probably a mistake to visit the Universes Jihoon hasn’t collected data on, because that’s just asking for trouble. But they only have time for one more and Seungcheol gets to pick this time, and of course, of course shit hits the fan.

It happens suddenly.

They’re no more than five seconds through the portal before someone’s grabbing Seungcheol by the shoulders and slamming him against the wall. Really fucking hard.

“Woah, what the hell.” Seungcheol says, trying to keep his tone light but failing entirely.

It probably doesn’t help that the guy manhandling him _is him._ Except he’s bigger, has freaky blood-red eyes, really jagged looking teeth and worst of all, the most appalling set of sideburns.

“Who the hell are you?” Hick! Seungcheol growls, like _actually fucking growls._

Frowning, Seungcheol hazards a glance at Jihoon before he whispers, “I think he can see me.”

Alternate Seungcheol’s lips twist into a snarl as he grabs Seungcheol by his shirtfront and heaves him him up the wall, “Of course, I can fucking see you. What do you expect when you suddenly materialise in my fucking living room while we’re watching TV.”

Over his shoulder, Jihoon’s face comes into view, expression twisted with concern. “I can’t understand why this is happening. I recalibrated the device accordingly. He really shouldn’t be able to see you.”

Seungcheol puffs out a breath through his nose, “Well—newsflash, _he can._ And he looks pretty angry about it. Maybe you should do something?” 

“Who’s he talking to Cheollie?” Someone whispers then, from somewhere above him, and there’s just enough leeway in the Alternate Seungcheol’s grip for Seungcheol to tilt his head up and find there’s a Jihoon hanging from the ceiling rafters.

A tiny, blonde haired Jihoon hanging upside down from the fucking ceiling.

He looks weirdly comfortable up there, with his legs wrapped around a support beam, but when Seungcheol blinks up at him, he opens his mouth and _hisses_. Hisses at him with his tiny, adorable _baby fangs._

“It’s okay baby, he can’t hurt you.” Alternate Seungcheol soothes, before wrapping his other hand around Seungcheol’s throat, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “Now, you got ten seconds to tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re wearing my face or I’m going to _eat you_.”

“Eat?” Seungcheol wheezes.

He tries to make eye-contact with the guy squeezing the air out of his throat, but all he gets back from the golden depths (he assumed the guy’s eyes are gold now, it’s impossible to tell when you’re being choked, but they seem to _glow_ ) is a savage blankness and the certainty that this man is not in any way, shape or form _bluffing_.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol’s voice doesn't crack, though it does waver a little. “What does he mean by eat?”

The Alien winces obviously, hands folding together and squeezing, “Oh, uhm, well. I’m not entirely sure, but I think this might be the universe where I am a baby Vampire and you are a….uhm...I believe the term is ‘ _werewolf’_.”

Seungcheol’s voice definitely cracks this time. “A Werewolf!”

Alternate Seungcheol looks vaguely insulted by that. Or maybe he’s just weirded out by the appearance of Seungcheol having a full-blown conversation with himself.

“That’s right, a werewolf,” Jihoon side-eyes him, then looks back at Seungcheol. “It’s a were creature that transforms during a full moon into a wolf like creature. It resides largely in fiction amongst humans in your universe. A myth so to speak. Whereas in _this_ universe it is a very plausible concept.”

Seungcheol’s currently incapable of speech, so he eyeballs him in a way that he trusts communicates, _I know what a fucking werewolf is, just get him to stop choking me._

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Jihoon fiddles with something on his tricorder and a moment later, a glowing panel appears on his suit. When he depresses it lightly, the forcefield around him flickers once, then dissolves.

It’s clear that everyone can see him now. Seungcheol can tell by how Alternate Jihoon’s hissing suddenly cuts off, and the way Werewolf! Seungcheol’s eyes glow crimson and his growl drops to a lower, more _dangerous_ register.

Not that angry, murderous growling is any sort of deterrent for his Snowflake of course. Oh yeah, absolutely not.

Demonstrating his concerning lack of self-preservation, Jihoon approaches the Werewolf with an unerring stride—doesn't stop until he’s standing right next to him, staring up and not the slightest bit bothered by the guy's intimidating height. Werewolf! Seungcheol, for his part, cuts the growling and stares down at Jihoon in obvious confusion, a slight crease between his brows, an expression of startled curiosity on his face.

“Hello. Can you please stop harming my friend Mr Werewolf Sir. He has no nefarious intentions for you or your Vampire friend, and neither do I. We’re only tourists here, space explorers from an alternate Universe with a thirst for knowledge.”

Werewolf! Seungcheol’s expression is decidedly _what the fuck_ , although he clearly has the self-restraint not to come right out and actually say it.

“Uhm, Cheol’s not actually a werewolf, he’s a Lycan.” Alternate Jihoon murmurs, observing Jihoon quietly as he levers himself to the floor, head tipped just slightly to one side with almost childish curiosity

“Oh, I apologise, I wasn’t aware there was a difference.” Jihoon says. He breaks into an assessing silence, before quickly adding, “I hope I haven’t offended anyone?”

Alternate Jihoon is quick to wave him off, “Hey, no, don’t worry about it. It’s a common misconception actually, even I took a while to realise the difference. A werewolf you see, relies on the presence of a full moon to transform, whereas a Lycan can transform at _will_.”

“How interesting.”

“I know right!” Alternate Jihoon says, punctuating the admission with a small, breathless laugh.

“Can you _please_ stop making friends with the imposter?” Lycan! Seungcheol pipes in, looking agitated, “Can’t you see he’s a shifter. A tiny adorable shifter, but a shifter nonetheless.”

From the corner of his eye, Seungcheol sees the alternate Jihoon shrug sheepishly. “I dunno Cheol—he doesn’t _smell_ like a shifter, he smells like...like _me_. I think he _is_ me.” He shuffles a few steps closer to Jihoon, smile getting wider, losing its shyness. “What’s your name stranger?”

Jihoon blinks, and there's startled confusion in his voice when he answers, “Jihoon.”

“Oh my god, that’s my name too!” Vampire! Jihoon says, then they both breakout into matching giggles which is too adorable for words.

It’s safe to say they’re getting along—which is nice. _Lovely_ even. Seungcheol’s happy for them and the awesome slumber party they’re probably going to have someday down the line. If only he could live long enough to appreciate it. But alas, no. Lycan! Seungcheol seems to have no intention of letting him _breathe_ any time soon.

“Please dude—ease up a little.” Seungcheol says, holding out his hands to reinforce how unarmed and harmless he is.

The Lycan chuffs, torn between choking him and glancing over his shoulder and the two Jihoon’s currently occupied in their animated little chatter. After a moment of indecision, he leans in and sniffs Seungcheol’s hair, then his frown slowly melts away.

“I guess you do smell like me a little—" He declares, though his nose wrinkles disapprovingly as he says it. “And a little stale too—like recycled air. Where’d the fuck you come from?”

“Space,” Seungcheol croaks out, sounding like his throat has gone ten rounds with a box of Cubans and a bottle of whiskey.

* * *

As much as Seungcheol would like to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, Jihoon has other ideas. More specifically— _friendship_ making ideas.

He’s clearly very taken with his Vampire counterpart and keen to know more about him and his strange Universe where Vampires and Lycans and Humans apparently co-exist. So he is quick to accept an offer of _refreshments_ on their behalf and sits with Vampire! Hoon on the couch to discuss their similarities over hot chocolate.

Seungcheol wishes things could be as equally pleasant between him and his Lycan counterpart, but it’s hard going from having no one to talk to for two years to being besties with a werewolf version of yourself who tries to kill you. And explosive temper and freaky strength aside, Lycan Seungcheol is just point-blank _terrifying_.

And huge. Like, _intimidating_ levels of huge.

All the Jihoon’s they’ve encountered so far have been roughly around the same size (Pickles not included), which is to say—they’ve all been adorable little things. But Lycan Seungcheol stands a good foot taller than _him_ , and carries at least 40 pounds of extra muscle, _easily_ the largest Seungcheol they’ve come across.

He practically dwarfs the corner of the couch where he’s sitting, sipping his hot chocolate menacingly, and _okay_ , some may argue it’s impossible to sip hot chocolate in an ominous fashion, but shit, even with a blob of whipped cream on the tip of his nose, that guy’s giving it a damn good go.

Seungcheol himself has given up on his own hot-chocolate some time ago, when every sip felt like molten lava scorching his aching throat, but when he reaches for his cup to break the tense staring match Lycan! Seungcheol seems intent on making him a part of, he finds the cup had been replaced with a nice, cool glass of orange juice.

Seungcheol’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken his eyes off anyone for long enough to miss that happening, but unless he’s _hallucinating_ that glass of orange juice, he must—

“For your throat.” Lycan! Seungcheol speaks up before he can finish that thought.

“Uhh, _thanks_.” Seungcheol says, sounding far more surprised than he probably should.

Hesitantly, he takes a sip of his orange juice, then offers a polite smile. It feels weak, but some of the intensity loosens from Lycan!Seungcheol’s features. Like maybe he feels bad about all the slamming into walls and choking he did earlier?

It’s hard to say.

They might share the same face on the surface, yet the Lycan’s is so different in its expressions, its defaults, its tells.

In the quiet that follows, it's Vampire! Jihoon who speaks up, waving vaguely at the pair of them. “So—what’s it been like, travelling through time?”

“Not gonna lie, it’s pretty cool,” Seungcheol begins, only for Jihoon to talk right over him with, “We’re technically not time travellers though. Time travel is a scientific improbability that merely exists in theory but has yet to be proven. What me and _Seungcheol_ are doing is using an interdimensional portal to travel to alternate realities that exist in parallel to our own. Like this one for instance. It’s a much easier process than time travel and less likely to result in space time collapse.”

Vampire! Jihoon smiles genially, “Cool.”

Weirdly enough, he seems pretty okay with that explanation—like it didn’t just fuck with his mind in irreversible ways. Then again, when you’re an honest-to-god vampire, dating an honest-to-god werewolf, maybe you get used to weird shit happening around you. Maybe interdimensional travellers showing up uninvited in your living room is just another day at the office.

“Have you considered the ramifications of what’s you’re doing?” The Lycan blurts out suddenly, in a tone that suggests he doesn't approve, at all. “Interdimensional travel is _risky_ —if you spend too long in an alternate Universe, you could impact on its quantum state.”

Jihoon’s answering smile seems a little forced, “I understand your concern, but this isn’t the first time I have travelled between dimensions, and I can assure you I have made the necessary calculations to ensure we do not overstay.”

At the Lycan’s understanding nod, Seungcheol laughs and leans forward despite himself.

“I’m amazed you understand what he’s talking about. He’s being trying to explain this shit to me for _months_ and I’m only kind of getting it now. But you…maybe I’m being a little obtuse here, but I didn’t expect a _werewolf_ to understand theoretical physics.”

He means it as a compliment more than anything, but it clearly doesn’t go down that way. Lycan Seungcheol seems to puff up a bit, indignation clear in his posture.

“First of all—I’m a _Lycan_ , learn the difference. And Second, I don’t _need_ a science degree to understand the basic principles of general relativity; I’m over 400 years old, I’ve had plenty of time to read up on shit.”

Seungcheol sinks back into his seat, suitably chastised.

There is a small part of his mind that begs him not to say anything more—the look on both Jihoon’s faces definitely says as much and Lycan! Seungcheol’s clearly not in the mood to accommodate pleasant chatter of any variety.

But the words came pouring out anyway.

“400 years old? _Jesus_ —you look younger than me and I’m only 27.”

“Guess I got good genes,” Lycan!Seungcheol snorts, then he gives Seungcheol a deliberately distasteful look up and down, “At least, in _this_ universe.”

And, oh, wow— _ouch_.

Seungcheol wasn’t expecting shit to get personal. Nevertheless, he cedes the point with a wobbly smirk and plunges on before he loses his nerve, “Yeah, well, at least I don’t bark at my own shadow and cream myself over a game of fetch.”

Lycan! Seungcheol’s eye narrow, and he makes a rude sounding noise—objecting to the opinion without actually admitting that it's not true. “Watch it pal, you do _not_ want to piss me off.”

Seungcheol bats his eyelashes at him, “Oh, I’m sorry, that was low. I shouldn’t have said that. Look, let me make it up to you, okay? You’re welcome to come over here and sniff my ass whenever you like.”

Lycan! Seungcheol’s jaw drops, like he has never, in 400 years, been told to go fuck himself.

Well—It’s about time he learned, because Seungcheol never takes an insult lying down and, well, it’s kind of fun to rile him up actually. Seungcheol’s got a ton of dog jokes up his sleeve and he had half a mind to share them, except when he next opens his mouth, Jihoon quickly interrupts by getting to his feet, smiling politely. 

“We should probably be leaving. We are reaching our time limit for this Universe.”

Grinning his best shit eating grin, Seungcheol meets the Lycan’s eyes as he knocks back the rest of his orange juice and stands. The Lycan rises to his feet at the same time, and for a moment Seungcheol thinks he’s going to retaliate for that little dog joke by punching him through the wall, but the guy just holds out his hand, a begrudging expression on his face.

“Safe journey and all that. But remember to put everything back where you found it.”

Exchanging a confused look with Jihoon, Seungcheol opens his mouth to answer _‘what the hell are you talking about, we haven’t taken anything_ , only for the Lycan to silence him with a tight squeeze of his hand.

“You can’t keep him, you _have_ to realise that,” Lycan! Seungcheol says. His voice is thick with cautious gravel as he flicks his gaze briefly on Jihoon, “I understand why you did it, I do. I know what it’s like to lose someone, but you can’t go around stealing Jihoon’s and smuggling them back to your universe. Especially _glowing_ ones that are going to stick out like a sore thumb back on Earth.”

Squinting, Seungcheol chances a quick sideways look at Jihoon, but he can't read anything at all through the controlled, cryptic blank of the Alien’s expression.

“Listen dude—” He begins, levelling the Lycan with a stern look, “I appreciate the cryptic advice and all, but I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t stolen anybody, okay, I’m not some kind of space alien poacher. I was just a regular astronaut on a regular space station in a very regular patch of space until Jihoon showed up. _He_ ’s the one who found me.”

Lycan!Seungcheol gives him a long, assessing glance in response; suspicion neatly camouflaged under casual speculation, then his gaze shifts momentarily to Jihoon, and something like comprehension crosses his face.

A pause, brief but significant, elapses in the quiet room. Then the Lycan’s stooping down, looking Jihoon dead in the eye and whispering, “I don’t get it. You could’ve gone anywhere, picked anyone. Why him?”

At first, the words don't sink in, Seungcheol doesn't entirely understand. But they must break some spell that he hadn't realized he’d been under, because suddenly he is aware of _everything_ in a way he hadn't been just seconds earlier. 

And _shit_.

* * *

The journey back to their own reality is kind of a blur—Seungcheol's mind just skipping over the parts where Jihoon takes his hand and pulls him back through the portal, guides him through the huge empty white void, until the next thing he knows they’re back on the station, standing in the middle of the greenhouse once more.

The station is strange on Seungcheol’s eyes after the bright, sleek dimensions of the void. There's firm reality in the cold, poorly lit contours of the vessel, reassuring and wretched all at once.

Seungcheol, for once in his aggressive life, does not say a word—just rests a hand against the bark of a tree and _tries_ for a moment to get his bearings as Jihoon’s does something with his tricorder that has the portal disappearing.

 _Don't think about it—_ has always been his preferred way of dealing with things that freak him the fuck out, and like a fucking coward, he wishes today’s revelation could be the end of it. Wants to pretend like having his worldview turned upside down will magically resolve itself, leaving them to go along their merry way into the sunset.

But he knows better now.

Knows there’s no use in trying to brush a revelation of this _magnitude_ under the carpet.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak, it takes all his effort and focus to project an illusion of calm he doesn't feel.

“So—earlier, when you said you were from another Universe, it’s not because you’re an Alien from another Galaxy, it’s because you’re _actually_ from another Universe, a completely separate timeline to this one. Am I right?”

There's no answer, but he looks up just enough to see Jihoon nod, his expression solemn and touched with a vague hint of desperation.

“And when you said you set out from your home world to find me, it wasn’t _me_ you were talking about, it was the Seungcheol from _your_ Universe.”

Jihoon nods and turns towards the viewport, all the fine details of his expression lost to its darkness. The next time he speaks, his voice is strangely disembodied, “Now you understand.”

“That much, yeah.” Seungcheol pushes a hand through his hair and sighs out a breath that shakes. “But there’s still so much I need to know. Like, what happened? Why did you come here after you found your Seungcheol? You—you did _find_ him, didn’t you?”

Silence hangs precariously between them, and Seungcheol tenses the way he does in fights, pre-emptively, as if words might land like fists at any moment.

“Does it matter?” Jihoon finally says, his voice so raw it hurts Seungcheol to hear.

“Yes, of course it fucking matters. I _finally_ understand everything you’ve been trying to tell me, and I want to know _why_.”

Seungcheol knows he sounds angry and he doesn’t mean to be, but he used up all of his patience for Wormholes and Merboy’s and Lycan version of himself that almost crushed his windpipe and now absolutely everything coming out of his mouth feels breathless.

Or maybe it's just Jihoon. The resigned slump to his shoulders, how he’s standing as far away as the room will permit, the way he’s so deliberately averting his gaze that’s making Seungcheol feel off-centre and unbalanced, literally and figuratively and in perpetuity.

“Please Jihoon,” he tries again, keeping his voice calm, “I want to know, why come here? Why my universe? Why me?”

Jihoon shrugs, then shakes his head. “There were multiple reasons—your isolated location was the most convenient for me to observe you without being noticed, and your timeline was more advanced than the others. Not _quite_ as advanced as my own Universe of course, but the closest in terms of technological advancement I could find. And you—” His shoulders hunch in further, his posture miserable, “You seemed lonely out here. As lonely as I was.”

“But what about your Seungcheol?” Seungcheol replies, his voice thick as he struggles to work around the tightness in his throat. “Why didn’t you stay with him when you found him?”

There is no reply, and for a moment, Seungcheol thinks Jihoon didn't hear him. Then, the Alien turns silently in the faint light, and their gazes lock.

The utter helplessness in Jihoon's eyes is more gut wrenching than any answer he could have given.

“He’s dead...isn’t he.” Seungcheol realizes in soft, horrified tones.

Jihoon dips his head in acknowledgement. His eyes shine in the almost-dark and there are twin tear tracks on his cheeks. He looks awful, and Seungcheol hurts for him. His whole chest _aches_ with it, the roll of sick understanding that leaves his skin cold. He understands now – understands acutely, _painfully_ – why Jihoon had been so afraid to tell him the truth.

It hurts to know what they have is an impossible thing, an improbability—strangled before they'd had the chance to do more than see it for what it could be. And to think Jihoon’s been carrying that knowledge around in his head all along…

A hundred protective instincts surge suddenly in Seungcheol's chest, and he has to hold himself back from dragging Jihoon into a hug. He hates to second guess his instincts like this, but he’s not sure the gesture would be appreciated under the circumstances.

When at last his stomach unknots itself from its furious tangle enough for his mind to start working again, he says, “How did it happen?”

Jihoon wrings his hands together, face falling impossibly further, “He—he was a human space pilot, stationed alone in the depths of space for the majority of his mission, much the same as you are here in fact."

"When I came upon his ship, the hull had already been breached—damage caused by a force of unknown origin. He had survived the initial impact by ejecting himself from the airlock, but when I traced the signal of his emergency beacon and finally found him, his oxygen levels had long been depleted, and despite my best efforts, I could not—”

He trails off, squeezing his eyes shut as though he finds himself nearly overcome with emotion. 

Seungcheol holds his tongue, confident there will be more.

"I never meant to interfere with you," Jihoon continues at last, eyes opening but gaze locking somewhere in the vicinity of Seungcheol's sternum. “I just—I just wanted to _see_ what he would have been like, to observe you from afar for a while. But then, that day, when I saw your tether snap, I knew you were in danger and I—I couldn’t just stand by, I _had_ to help you. Even if my interference created a ripple of cataclysmic proportions, I had to stop you from dying again.”

Seungcheol grunts a surprised laugh, low and genuine.

“Well, I’m pretty fucking glad you did. I don’t think I ever got around to thanking you actually, which— _shit_. I’m sorry, that was rude.” He rubs at his eyes, but he’s not crying. His eyes burn, but they're completely dry as emotion twists tight in his chest. “Guess I just got swept up in the whole _Alien’s exist_ thing I kind of forgot to say thanks, but uhm—thank you Jihoon, thanks for saving me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Jihoon raises his head and stares straight into Seungcheol's soul.

“You already _did_.” He breathes, softer and yet somehow more emphatic. “You have been impossibly kind and gentle with me, more patient and caring than I deserve. In my short time here, you’ve given me the happiest days of my life, when I had lost all hope of feeling happiness again.” He wipes his tears away with one hand, touches Seungcheol’s face with the other, the tips of his fingers tracing every contour, as if he’s memorizing Seungcheol’s face. “Your Jihoon will be lucky to have you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you _are_ my Jihoon.” Seungcheol blurts out, wanting to cull the heartbroken certainty before it can finish materializing in Jihoon's eyes. Instead, Jihoon's expression pinches in, soft and devastated, as if Seungcheol’s being cruel by saying it.

“N-no, no I’m not. Don’t you get it? I thought you understood.”

“Oh no, I get it.” Seungcheol laughs, a little bitterly. “I understand it all perfectly now. It just doesn’t change anything for me—you’re still _my_ Jihoon.”

For the briefest moment, moisture glitters in Jihoon's eyes. But he blinks, stubborn resolve hardening his features as he shakes his head, “No Seungcheol, we do not _belong_ together; there is another Jihoon in this Universe, and it is _them_ that you belong with.”

Anger flares in Seungcheol and he surges forward a final step, grabbing Jihoon by both arms, as much to ground himself as to steady the petite Alien still watching him with a heartbroken expression.

“And I’m telling you— _I don’t care_. You are still my Jihoon.”

Jihoon makes a quiet sound, caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “How can you say that, after everything you have seen? How can you not see I am merely an interloper.”

He sounds frantic now, voice pitched low but still desperate with feeling.

“There is another Jihoon in this Universe, waiting for you to find each other, to have a life together. By remaining here, I am invading their rightful place with you.”

The angry inferno threatens to consume Seungcheol completely, and he frames Jihoon's face between his hands, tilts his head up so he has nowhere else to look.

“You’re a smart guy Jihoon, so use your fucking brain. You think that just because there’s another Jihoon out there somewhere, that I would have found him, that we would have lived the rest of our lives together, but you’re forgetting the only reason I’m still alive is because of you; you stepped in and pulled me back to safety when my tether snapped. You’re not taking anyone’s place, because the fact of the matter is, I was never _supposed_ to have a Jihoon. I was supposed to die out here without ever having met him.”

Jihoon stares at him, face pale, mouth hanging open slightly – he looks blindsided, stunned.

“N-no. No, that can’t be right.” He breathes, not quite daring to believe. “The-there is still a possibility that you could have survived without my intervention. You could have survived, and you would have found each other eventually, you always do.”

Seungcheol shakes his head firmly, “Or—I could have kept floating till my oxygen ran out. I could have died alone out here, and then I would never have met—”

“But you don’t _know_ that.” Jihoon interrupts, breathless and stubborn.

“And you don’t know I’m wrong either.” Seungcheol says in a voice tight with emotion.

Fact is, he has already considered the possibility, but it doesn’t change the fact that it wouldn’t be the same knowing what he knows now. It’s terrible to imagine finding a Jihoon without any of the history that has stacked up between them, without the experiences that have shaped them both into the people that are now. People who fit together around the edges almost gracefully, like pebbles in a riverbed, sliding against each other for millennia. It’s even more terrible trying to imagine returning to a life without Jihoon. Without _this_ Jihoon.

He doesn't want that future anymore.

Whatever shape the road ahead takes, he will accept any detour so long as he has Jihoon by his side.

“Listen to me Jihoon,” He whispers, stroking Jihoon’s jaw with his thumbs, a soothing touch. Coaxing him back from a frenzied edge. “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out for us in your Universe, I really am. I’m sorry you lost your chance with me there, and I’m sorry you had to find my dead floating corpse. But you do _not_ get to walk into my life, make me fall in love with you and then walk out because of some misplaced guilt. That is not going to fucking happen. We’re both here right now, together, and there’s no fucking way in hell I’m letting you leave. I don’t care if you didn’t begin your life in this Universe, but this is where you are going to live out the rest of your days, because you are _mine_.”

Jihoon’s gaze is openly vulnerable as he searches Seungcheol’s face for—what? Hesitation? Deceit? Conditions?

Well, he’ll find none of those because Seungcheol has never felt more certain of anything in his life than this.

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist: Just mood music from some of my favourite Sci Fi-films.  
> [Welcome to Lunar Industries-Clint Mansell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lAfMT5FIZE)  
> [First Sleep-Cliff Martinez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGiPlzcNpws)  
> [Journey to The Line-Hans Zimmer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D75UP7APbF4)  
> [No Time for Caution-Hans Zimmer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3zvVGJrTP8)  
> [Don't Blow It-Cliff Martinez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8_E_y-EUkA)  
> [Life-Harry Gregson Williams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_uPhN9gJ0k)  
> [Sunshine-John Murphy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQXVzg2PiZw)  
> [Protect Life-The Fifth Element OST](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4T-qmSvs66E)  
> I'll probably add more as I continue.  
> 


End file.
